“If you do so, now, Roy,” said Mr. Shalford, who motioned silence to the others, “you make the mistake of your life. You give your enemies—I mean those ill-disposed toward you, if there are any—a free field, and unlimited opportunities to vilify you. You can not, you must not go.”
“But I must.”
“No, no, you must not, Roy.”
“But I must, sir. Oh, I can't stand it,”
“Well, if you must, think over your friends' sorrow at such a course.”
“Sir?”asked the bewildered boy, not at all understanding.
“I say, think of our sorrow, your friend's sorrow at such a step. And, Roy, think of your mother's sorrow! A son with a blighted name! Don't you see that by running away now you make a tacit confession of some guilt? No, you must not go,”
Long ago Mr. Shalford had surmised what were Henning's intentions and aspirations for a future career. He saw this affair would be an occasion of trying the very soul of the boy before him, and that it would either make or break him. He thought, and correctly, that he knew the character of the youth now in such deep trouble, and he was anxious that he should make no false step. He looked Roy straight in the eye, and said seriously:
“Definitely, you must not go,” and then, as calmly as he had spoken before, he made use of a somewhat enigmatic expression: “Eagles live on mountain heights where storms are strongest.”