delude himself, and carried on his books at their cost-price
properties which had appreciated tremendously in value since their
purchase. The knowledge of his wealth brought to McKaye a goodly
measure of happiness--not because he was of Scottish ancestry and had
inherited a love for his baubees, but because he was descended from a
fierce, proud Scottish clan and wealth spelled independence to him and
his.

The Laird would have filled his cup of happiness to overflowing had he
married a less mediocre woman or had he raised his daughters as he had
his son. The girls' upbringing had been left entirely in their
mother's hands. Not so with young Donald, however--wherefore it was a
byword in Port Agnew that Donald was his father's son, a veritable
chip of the old block.

By some uncanny alchemy, hard cash appears to soften the heads and
relax the muscles of rich men's sons--at least, such had been old
Hector's observation, and on the instant that he first gazed upon the
face of his son, there had been born in him a mighty resolve that,
come what might, he would not have it said of him that he had made a
fool of his boy. And throughout the glad years of his fatherhood, with
the stern piety of his race and his faith, he had knelt night and
morning beside his bed and prayed his God to help him not to make a
fool of Donald--to keep Donald from making a fool of himself.

When Donald entered Princeton, his father decided upon an experiment.
He had raised his boy right, and trained him for the race of life, and
now The Laird felt that, like a thoroughbred horse, his son faced the
barrier. Would he make the run, or would he, in the parlance of the
sporting world, "dog it?" Would his four years at a great American