It was six of one, and half a dozen of the other. Irrespective of what the world believed, the logical course for Lefty to follow was to leave New Haven and bury his identity until his present difficulties were at least forgotten.
When he dressed, he found his mother and father still waiting for him.
It was some time before any member of this unhappy trio found courage enough to speak, and when the moment arrived, it was Lefty who broke the silence.
They were seated in the rear of a little restaurant on the outskirts of the town, near West Haven, a place discreetly chosen by Phelps, senior, because of the fact that college boys never went in that direction for their meals.
“I’m going away,” Lefty began, with a display of hesitance in his voice. “I’m leaving to-night!”
His mother’s face turned chalk white and she found her hand automatically grasping the edge of the table for support.
“Oh, Son, you can’t do that!”
“But I must, Mother. I could never bear to go back there and face their jeers, whispers and laughter. It is too much to ask of me!”
“Then come home with us,” the little old lady pleaded. “We understand. Besides, no matter what has happened, Dad and I want you, Son.”
Lefty’s eyes rested on the white tablecloth before him. He dared not look at his mother, less she detect the faint moisture trickling down his cheek.