had come to him the instant his father had shown the teeth and claws of
tyranny, instead of being an impulse of just that moment, inspired by
Mrs. Whitney's encouragement to the weakest and worst in his nature.

"I shouldn't be too hasty about that," she cautioned. "He is old and
sick. You ought to be more than considerate. And, also, you should
be careful not to make him do anything that would cut you out of
your rights."

It was the first time the thought of his "rights"--of the share of his
father's estate that would be his when his father was no more--had
definitely entered his head. That he would some day be a rich man he had
accepted just as he accepted the other conditions of his environment--all
to which he was born and in which consisted his title to be regarded as
of the "upper classes," like his associates at Harvard. Thinking now on
the insinuated proposition that his father might disinherit him, he
promptly rejected it. "No danger of his doing that," he assured her, with
the utmost confidence. "Father is an honest man, and he wouldn't think of
anything so dishonest, so dishonorable."

This view of a child's rights in the estate of its parents amused Mrs.
Whitney. She knew how quickly she would herself cut off a child of hers
who was obstinately disobedient, and, while she felt that it would be an
outrage for Hiram Ranger to cut off his son for making what she regarded
as the beginning of the highest career, the career of "gentleman," still
she could not dispute his right to do so. "Your father may not see your
rights in the same light that you do, Arthur," said she mildly. "If I
were you, I'd be careful."

Arthur reflected. "I don't think it's possible," said he, "but I guess