“You know,” Dan said abruptly, “you look a lot like Chub. Same eyes—hair.”
“Say, that’s right!” agreed Brad, startled by Dan’s observation. “Maybe you’re a relative!”
“Maybe I am,” the man admitted. “Maybe I’m a close relative.”
“Not his father?” Dan guessed.
“Yes, his father,” the stranger repeated, almost defiantly. “Anything wrong with it? You think he’d be ashamed if he knew the truth?”
“Why, no,” Dan stammered. “Why should he be ashamed of you?”
“Because I’ve neglected him all these years,” the man burst out. “Because I’m living in this belfry instead of in a decent house or hotel, the way other folks do. Because I have no job! Because if folks knew I was Chub’s father they’d say I was no good.”
“Not if it weren’t true,” Dan answered quietly. “Chub’s terribly lonesome. He needs a Dad.”
“One that he could be proud of,” the man answered in a bitter voice. “It’s better that I go away and never tell him the truth!”
“Would that be fair to Chub?” Brad asked.