"You don't understand. I've bought the 'Clarion,' presses, plant, circulation, franchise, good-will, ill-will, high, low, jack, and the game."
"You! What for?"
"Why," said Hal thoughtfully; "mainly because I lost my temper, I believe."
"Sounds like a pretty heavy loss, Boy-ee."
"Two hundred and thirty thousand dollars. Oh, the prodigal son hasn't got anything on me, Dad, when it comes to scattering patrimonies," he concluded a little ruefully.
"What are you going to do with it, now you've got it?"
"Run it. I've bought a career."
"Now you're talking." The big man jumped up and set both hands on Hal's shoulders. "That's the kind of thing I like to hear, and in the kind of way it ought to be said. You go to it, Hal. I'll back you, as far as you like."
"No, sir. I thank you just the same: this is my game."
"Want to play it alone, do you?"