Even Conniston's sanguine temperament was not proof to the shock of his father's message. He knew his father too well to hope that he would change his mind now. His eyes showed a troubled anxiety when he went slowly back to confront Hapgood.
"Well, what's the good news?" cried Hapgood. And then, when he had seen Conniston's face, "Gad, man! What's wrong?"
Conniston shook his head as he sank into a chair.
"I—I'm a bit upset," he answered, unsteadily. "I made a mistake; that's all."
"It wasn't your father?"
"That's the trouble. It was! He refuses to send a dollar. And he's leaving to-morrow for a year in Europe."
"What!" yelled Hapgood, leaping to his feet in entire forgetfulness of his sore muscles.
"That's it. And when the old man says he'll do a thing he'll do it."
Hapgood stared at him speechless. And then, his hands driven deep into his pockets, he began an agitated pacing up and down the porch, his brows drawn, his eyes squinting as they had the habit of doing when he was excited.
"What are we going to do?" he demanded, stopping before Conniston.