A knock came on the door—perhaps the nurse for the tray. He did not turn his head or open his eyes. He was resting in the quiet.
A light step crossed the room and stopped—and presently Herman Medfield looked up.
The boy was smiling down at him. "Hallo, Father!"
He put up a swift hand to brush the vision away.
And the boy took it, and bent down and kissed him, almost shyly.
Then Herman Medfield reached out both hands. "Why—Julian! I was thinking about you!" He threw his arms around him hungrily. "I was wishing you would come!"
"Were you?" The young man laughed happily and drew up a chair to the bed. "I'm just in time, then."
He sat looking at his father; and it came to Herman Medfield that the boy was fond of him. There was a look in the clear eyes of affection and pride.
He gazed at it. "You didn't get my letter?"
"Which? The one with the check for three thousand?"