“Go into the house, Ben,” he commanded; “I’ll see you later.”
When Ben was gone he turned to Justin.
“I’ve tried to do right by you, Justin, and I’ve liked your work; but you must remember that Ben is my son. I can’t think that you had any good reason to strike him.”
“I didn’t intend to strike him,” Justin urged, “and I shouldn’t have done so if he hadn’t struck me first.”
“Well, I won’t have you two quarreling and fighting. Just remember that, will you?”
“He struck me first!” said Justin, sturdily, though deeply troubled by the knowledge that he had offended Philip Davison.
Davison followed Ben into the house, leaving Justin weak and bewildered. He had smothered his sudden explosive rage, yet he still felt its influence. That he could have struck Ben in that way seemed incredible; yet he tried to justify the deed to himself. He was about to walk away, when Ben reappeared and came up to him.
“Justin, you’re a brick, to stand by a fellow that way! You knocked me down, but I don’t hold it against you, for you can keep your mouth shut.”
“You still have that money?”
“Of course.”