"When did you first meet your—your father?" I found myself wincing at the word, but after all Pendleton was his father.
"About three weeks ago," was the reply.
"How did it happen?"
"He came here and followed 'Licia and me to town one morning on the train. He watched for me till I came out of lecture and then he spoke to me."
"What did he say?"
"Oh, asked whether I'd forgotten him, took me to lunch and told me you gave him a rotten deal—took his children away from him—sent him into exile, and so on."
"Didn't he tell you that he deserted your mother and you three children and that your mother died of it?"
"No," said Randolph wearily, "but I knew that. Oh, you needn't think I took to him right off the bat."
"Didn't he tell you that he went away of his own desire—after a horrible scene with—with Alicia?" I felt the truth must be told the boy now. "Didn't he tell you that I gave him money to go and that only recently I sent him more money to San Francisco, because he wanted to get back to the East?"
"No," said the boy in wide-eyed amazement. "He said you had taken everything from him because of the mistake he'd made—and tried to keep him down. That's what first began to get me. Oh, what's the use, Uncle Ranny? It's a hard thing to say, but I guess he's pretty rotten, even if he is my father. He got me drunk to-night to do this—" he waved his hand heavily toward the desk. "Said there was some island he'd found where he wanted to raise copra or cocoanuts or something—end his days—-if he only had a little money—that's why.—But what's the use, Uncle Ranny," he went on in the same weary tones, "I'm through with him. I don't care a curse about him now. What are you going to do with me?"