The Son of his Father

by Ridgwell Cullum

"Oh—you agree?"

"Yes, sir. That is, no, sir."

Harding passed one thin hand across his forehead, and the movement was one of perplexity. It was the only gesture he permitted himself as any expression of feeling.

"I'm going away for six months—as a five-cent-cigar man," Gordon went on, disguising his regret under a smile of humor. "I'm going away on—business."

"Yes, sir." The respectful agreement came in a monotonous tone.

"So you'll—just have to quit. That's all."

"Yes, sir."

"Ye-es."

"You will—need a man when you come back, sir?" The eagerness was unmistakable to Gordon.

"I—hope so."