* * * * *

"By God, Johnnie, this is the only thing there's left to do with you."
He flung me aside. I lay there sobbing.

"Tell me, my boy, what _is_ the matter with you?" he asked, softening.
Unlike Landon, he was usually gentle with me. He seldom treated me
harshly.

"Father, I don't want to work any more."

"Don't want to work?... but you quit school just to _go_ to work, at
your own wish!"

"I want to go back to school!"

"Back to school?... you'll be behind the rest by now."

"I've been studying a lot by myself," I replied, forgetting the feel of
the stick already and absorbed in the new idea.

By this time we were down the stairs again, and I was sitting by my
father's desk. He took up the unlighted cigar he always carried in his
mouth (for smoking was not allowed among such inflammable material as
composite). He sucked at it thoughtfully from habit, as if he were
smoking.

"Look here, my son, what _is_ the matter with you ... won't you tell
your daddy?"