“Goin' HOME? Why, you came from home not more than an hour and a half ago! What are you goin' there again now for?”
“To pack up my things.”
“To pack up your things! To pack up—Humph! So you really mean it! You're really goin' to quit me like this? And your grandma, too!”
The young man felt a sudden pang of compunction, a twinge of conscience.
“Grandfather,” he said, “I'm sorry. I—”
But the change in his attitude and tone came too late. Captain Lote's temper was boiling now, contradiction was its worst provocative.
“Goin' to quit!” he sneered. “Goin' to quit because you don't like to work. All right, quit then! Go ahead! I've done all I can to make a man of you. Go to the devil in your own way.”
“Grandfather, I—”
“Go ahead! I can't stop you. It's in your breed, I cal'late.”
That was sufficient. Albert strode out of the private office, head erect. Captain Zelotes rose and slammed the door after his departing grandson.