Clayton put his hand on the boy's shoulder and patted him.

"We'll have to do better next time. That's all."

For a moment the veil of constraint of Natalie's weaving lifted
between them.

"I'm a pretty bad egg, I guess. You'd better shove me off the dock
and let me swim - or drown."

"I'd hardly like to do that, you know. You are all I have."

"I'm no good at the mill."

"You haven't had very much time. I've been a good many years
learning the business."'

"I'll never be any good. Not there. If there was something to
build up it would be different, but it's all done. You've done it.
I'm only a sort of sublimated clerk. I don't mean," he added
hastily, "that I think I ought to have anything more. It's only
that - well, the struggle's over, if you know what I mean."

"I'll talk to you about that to-morrow. Get to bed now. It's one
o'clock."

He moved to the doorway. Graham, carafe in hand, stood staring
ahead of him. He had the courage of the last whiskey-and-soda, and
a sort of desperate contrition.