help you. I leave for Europe to-morrow to be gone for a year
on my first vacation. It will do no good for you to
telegraph again. I cannot help you beyond wishing you luck.
You are on your own feet. Walk if you can.

"Yours,

"WILLIAM CONNISTON, Senior."

Conniston leaned limply against the wall, staring into the telephone.

"Look here!" he cried, after a moment. "There's a mistake somewhere."

"No mistake. The wire was just brought in from the Western Union
office."

"But I don't understand--"

"I'm sorry. Is there anything else?"

"No. That's all."

Even Conniston's sanguine temperament was not proof to the shock of
his father's message. He knew his father too well to hope that he
would change his mind now. His eyes showed a troubled anxiety when he
went slowly back to confront Hapgood.

"Well, what's the good news?" cried Hapgood. And then, when he had
seen Conniston's face, "Gad, man! What's wrong?"