For the first time since the quarrel, pity and dread came into Parmenter’s breast. Never in all his life had he looked upon a spectacle so pitiable and so revolting.
The two men dragged their helpless burden up the steps of Professor Lee’s residence, but before they could ring the bell the professor himself was at the door. The next moment they were all in the hall, the street-door was closed, the limp and insensible form of the young man was laid carefully on the settee, and Delavan had hurried off to find the college physician.
Professor Lee pushed the hair back tenderly from his boy’s eyes and forehead, then he turned sharply to Parmenter.
“Did you lead him into this also?” he asked, huskily.
The tone, the implication, roused the tiger again in Parmenter’s breast.
“I did not,” was the swift reply. “I never drank with him in my life, nor ever suggested such a thing. I do not wonder, though, that you lay this crowning disgrace of your son’s at my door, since you have been pleased, without cause, to charge to my account every fault and folly of which he has been guilty for the last six months.”
Professor Lee’s face was white with emotion.
“Look here, Parmenter!” he said, “this is no time nor place for quarrels or explanations. Let me say to you simply that I do not need your presence here. You may go!”
Parmenter backed slowly down the hall, awed and subdued by the man’s quiet anger. He did not speak again. He cast one glance at the poor, unconscious figure on the hall settee; then he turned and left the house.