"It's rather long," she laughed into the telephone. "But it's paid. It runs:
"My dear Son,—Your wire received. Sorry you misunderstood me. So that you may make no mistakes in the future I shall be more explicit now. I shall not send you one single dollar for at least one year from date. If at the end of that time you have done something for yourself I may help you. I leave for Europe to-morrow to be gone for a year on my first vacation. It will do no good for you to telegraph again. I cannot help you beyond wishing you luck. You are on your own feet. Walk if you can.
"Yours,
"William Conniston, Senior."
Conniston leaned limply against the wall, staring into the telephone.
"Look here!" he cried, after a moment. "There's a mistake somewhere."
"No mistake. The wire was just brought in from the Western Union office."
"But I don't understand—"
"I'm sorry. Is there anything else?"
"No. That's all."