“There are ten thousand dollars, Howard. When you need more, let me know. And now, good-bye, my son. I may never see you again. I am not well. But come back soon, if you can. You will know what the result of the inquiry into the death of Dick Jarvis is if you watch the papers.”
“I may be where I cannot easily get New York papers, father. I intend to go as far away from what we call civilization as I can. I don’t know where. But it doesn’t matter. There is one thing I want to say in your presence, father, before I go away—one vow I mean to make.”
“Yes?”
“I will not raise my hand in anger against anybody again. I don’t care what the provocation, I will not fight.”
“I don’t see how you can make such a resolution as that, my son. Sometimes an occasion will arise when you cannot avoid fighting.”
“I know that. But I will avoid it, even under such conditions as those,” declared Howard resolutely. “Don’t you see, father, that that will be my punishment for what I did to-night to Dick Jarvis?”
The millionaire shook his head. It seemed to him that his son was making a vow that he would find it impossible to keep.
“I do not think you should hold yourself to such a pledge as that,” he said. “Anyhow, I believe I shall be able to smooth matters over for you so that you can soon return home. I only have you, now that your mother is gone, and I want you with me for the little time I have to live.”
“Nonsense, father,” returned Howard affectionately. “You will be alive twenty years from now. Long before that I hope I shall have found a way to come home and be a decent citizen, but I confess I don’t see my way clear now. Good-bye!”
With a hearty clasp of his father’s hand, Howard Milmarsh turned away and fairly ran from the room.