“Still, you’ve done very well so far,” her husband assured her. “Sam’s a pretty good boy, as boys go. I don’t happen to think of any other youngster for whom I’d care to exchange him. But if he’s getting beyond you—well, I’ll try my luck. Only”—he hesitated—“only, when I do, perhaps you’d better make it a strictly masculine session. I may have to lay down some rather rigid rules, and—well, it will be just as well not to have an over-merciful court of appeal too conveniently at hand. Send him to me when he comes in, and Master Sam and I will reach an understanding.”
So they arranged it; and so it came to pass that when Sam walked into the library—the clocks were striking eight as he entered—his mother, after gently chiding him for his tardiness, slipped out. The shaded light, by which his father was reading, left the ends of the room in shadow, and Sam lingered for a moment by the door. At last he came forward, halting directly in front of his father.
Mr. Parker looked up. “Well, young man——” he began, but suddenly his tone changed sharply. “What in the world have you been doing, Sam? You look as if you’d been dragged through a knot-hole!”
Sam’s wan smile was more eloquent than his speech. “I shouldn’t wonder if I did, sir. I’ve been walking around and—and thinking.”
“Where have you been walking?”
“Around town, sir—up and down the streets—anywhere.”
“Thinking all the while?”
“Yes, sir; thinking hard.”
“Been alone?”
“All alone.”