The Clarion. Samuel Hopkins Adams

on?"

      "Here at State Crossing. Thought I'd come up and meet you. The office got on my nerves this morning. Work didn't hold me worth a cent. I kept figuring you coming nearer and nearer until I couldn't stand it, so I banged down my desk, told my secretary that I was going to California on the night boat and mightn't be back till evening, hung the scrap-basket on the stenographer's ear when she tried to hold me up to sign some letters, jumped out of the fifth-story window, and here I am. I hope you're as tickled to see me as I am to see you."

      The young man's hand went out, fell with a swift movement, to touch his father's, and was as swiftly withdrawn again.

      "Worthington's just waiting for you," the Doctor rattled on. "You're put up at all the clubs. People you've never heard of are laying out dinners and dances for you. You're a distinguished stranger; that's what you are. Welcome to our city and all that sort of thing. I'd like to have a brass band at the station to meet you, only I thought it might jar your quiet European tastes. Eh? At that, I had to put the boys under bonds to keep 'em from decorating the factory for you."

      "You don't seem to have lost any of your spirit, Dad," said the junior, smiling.

      "Noticed that already, have you? Well, I'm holding my own, Boyee. Up to date, old age hasn't scratched me with his claws to any noticeable extent—is that the way it goes?—see 'Familiar Quotations.' I'm getting to be a regular book-worm, Hal. Shakespeare, R.L.S., Kipling, Arnold Bennett, Hall Caine—all the high-brows. And I get 'em, too. Soak 'em right in. I love it! Tell me, who's this Balzac? An agent was in yesterday trying to make me believe that he invented culture. What about him? I'm pretty hot on the culture trail. Look out, or I'll overhaul you."

      "You won't have to go very far or fast. I've got only smatterings." But the boy spoke with a subdued complacency not wholly lost upon the shrewd father.

      "Not so much that you'll think Worthington dull and provincial?"

      "Oh, I dare say I shall find it a very decent little place."

      But here Hal touched another pride and loyalty, quite as genuine as that which Dr. Surtaine felt for his son.

      "Little place!" he cried. "Two hundred thousand of the livest people on God's earth. A gen-u-wine American city if there ever was one."

      "Evidently it suits you, sir."

      "Couldn't suit better if I'd had it made to order," chuckled the Doctor. "And I did pretty near make it over to order. It was a dead-and-alive town when we opened up here. Didn't care much about my business, either. Now we're the biggest thing in town. Why Certina is the cross-mark that shows where Worthington is on the map. The business is sim-plee BOOMING." The word exploded in rapture. "Nothing like it ever known in the proprietary trade. Wait till you see the shop."

      "That will be soon, won't it, sir? I think I've loafed quite long enough."

      "You're only twenty-five," his father defended him. "It isn't as if you'd been idling. Your four years abroad have been just so much capital. Educational capital, I mean. I've got plenty of the other kind, for both of us. You don't need to go into the business unless you want to."

      "Being an American, I suppose I've got to go to work at something."

      "Not necessarily."

      "You don't want me to live on you all my life, though, I suppose."

      "Well, I don't want you to want me to want you to," returned the other, laughing. "But there's no hurry."

      "To tell the truth, I'm rather bored with doing nothing. And if I can be of any use to you in the business—"

      "You're ready to resume the partnership," his father concluded the sentence for him. "That was the foundation of it all; the old days when I did the 'spieling' and you took in the dollars. How quick your little hands were! Can you remember it? The smelly smoke of the torches, and the shadows chasing each other across the crowds below. And to think what has grown out of it. God, Boyee! It's a miracle," he exulted.

      "It isn't very clear in my memory. I used to get pretty sleepy, I remember," said the son, smiling.

      "Poor Boyee! Sometimes I hated the life, for you. But there was nobody to leave you with; and you were all I had. Anyway, it's turned out well, hasn't it?"

      "That remains to be seen for me, doesn't it? I'm rather at the start of things."

      "Most youngsters would be content with an unlimited allowance, and the world for a playground."

      "One gets tired of playing. And of globe-trotting."

      "Good! Do you think you can make Worthington feel like home?"

      "How can I tell, sir? I haven't spent two weeks altogether in the place since I entered college eight years ago."

      "Did it ever strike you that I'd carefully planned to keep you away from here, and that our periods of companionship have all been abroad or at summer places?"

      "Yes."

      "You've never spoken of it."

      "No."

      "Good boy! Now I'll tell you why. I wanted to be absolutely established before I brought you back here. Not in business, alone. That came long ago. There have been obstacles, in other ways. They're all overcome. To-day we come pretty near to being king-pins in this town, you and I, Hal. Do you feel like a prince entering into his realm?"

      "Rather more like a freshman entering college," said the other, laughing. "It isn't the town, it's the business that I have misgivings about."

      "Misgivings? How's that?" asked the father quickly.

      "What I can do in it."

      "Oh, that. My doubts are whether it's the best thing for you."

      "Don't you want me to go into it, Dad?"

      "Of course I want you with me, Boyee. But—well, frank and flat, I don't know whether it's genteel enough for you."

      "Genteel?" The younger Surtaine repeated the distasteful adjective with surprise.

      "Some folks make fun of it, you know. It's the advertising that makes it a fair mark. 'Certina,' they say. 'That's where he made his money. Patent-medicine millions.' I don't mind it. But for you it's different."

      "If the money is good enough for me to spend, it's good enough for me to earn," said Hal Surtaine a little grandiloquently.

      "Humph! Well, the business is a big success, and I want you to be a big success. But that doesn't mean that I want to combine the two. Isn't there anything else you've ever thought of turning to?"

      "I've got something of a leaning toward your profession, Dad."

      "My prof—oh, you mean medicine."

      "Yes."

      "Nothing in it. Doctors are a lot of prejudiced pedants and hypocrites. Not one in a thousand is more than an inch wide. What started you on that?"

      "I hardly know. It was just a notion. I think the scientific and sociological side is what appeals to me. But my interest is only theoretical."

      "That's very well for a hobby. Not as a profession. Here we are, half an hour late, as usual."

      The sudden and violent bite of the brakes, a characteristic operation of that mummy among railroads, the Mid-State and Great Muddy River, commonly known as the "Mid-and-Mud," flung forward in an involuntary plunge the incautious who had arisen to look after their things. Hal Surtaine found himself supporting the weight of a fortuitous citizen who had just made his way up the aisle.

      "Thank you," said the stranger in a dry voice. "You're the prodigal son of whom we've heard such glowing forecast, I presume."

      "Well met, Mr. Pierce," called Dr. Surtaine's jovial voice. "Yes, that's my son, Harrington, you're hanging to. Hal, this is Mr. Elias M. Pierce, one of the men who run Worthington."

      Releasing his