I don't know why the mere entry of that breezy Mohock into the room brought my unwilling fatherhood into a relief ten times sharper than I had felt it before. I suddenly felt myself a gawk and a failure before a man of the world—even though I did not wholly respect the man of the world. Once more I was acutely aware of lost freedom. Abstract Freedom, out of which I had stepped as a man steps from life into death.
Luckily Fred is not one to beat about the bush.
"You remember," he began, skillfully rotating the mutilated end of a cigar between his teeth, "my telling you at the club the kind of business you'd be suited for?"
"A bond salesman or a dog fancier," I answered promptly.
"Have you gone into anything?"
I replied in the negative.
"Well, I'm thinking of starting something," he announced solemnly.
"A dog kennel?" I queried.
"No—a bond business, Ran."
"I wish you luck, my boy," I told him.