The very old man lowered his shaking right hand and looked at it; then he said sullenly, "I only wanted his own good. You ought to see that—a parson!"
"But you forget; I don't know what it was about."
Mr. Wright's face twitched. "Well," he said spasmodically, "I'll-tell you. I—"
"Yes?"
"I—" his voice broke, then he coughed, then he tried to laugh. "Simple enough; simple enough. I had occasion to send him to Mercer. He was to come back that night." Mr. Wright stopped; poured some whiskey into his glass, and forgetting to add any water, drank it at a gulp, "He didn't come back until the next afternoon."
"Yes. Well?"
"In those days I was of—of somewhat hasty temper."
"So I have heard," said Dr. Lavendar,
Benjamin Wright glared. "When I was young, listening to gossip was not thought becoming in the cloth. When he came, I learned that he had stayed over in Mercer—without my consent, mark you—to go to the theatre!"
"Well?" said Dr. Lavendar. "He was twenty-four. Why should he have your consent?"