Roland looked at his father, and received a nod of encouragement.
He hesitated no longer, but, with a look of triumphant spite, lifted the cane and rushed toward Oliver. It did not fall where it was intended, for, with a spring, Oliver wrested it from his grasp and threw it out of the window. Then, without a word, leaving father and son gazing into each other's faces with mingled wrath and dismay, he left the room.
"Are you going to allow this, father?" asked Roland in a tone of disappointment. "Oliver doesn't pay you the least respect."
Mr. Kenyon was not a brave or a resolute man. He was a man capable of pettytyranny, but one to be cowed by manly opposition. It occurred to him that in seeking to break Oliver's spirit, he had undertaken a difficult task. So he hardly knew what to say.
"Shall I run after him?" asked Roland.
"No," said his father. "I will take a little time to consider what is to be done with him. I'll make him rue this day, you may depend upon it."
"I hope you will," said Roland. "I don't mind so much about myself," he added artfully, "but I hate to see him treat you so."
"I'll break his proud spirit," said Mr. Kenyon, biting his lip. "I'll find a way, you may depend upon it."