Conniston shook his head as he sank into a chair.

"I--I'm a bit upset," he answered, unsteadily. "I made a mistake;
that's all."

"It wasn't your father?"

"That's the trouble. It was! He refuses to send a dollar. And he's
leaving to-morrow for a year in Europe."

"What!" yelled Hapgood, leaping to his feet in entire forgetfulness of
his sore muscles.

"That's it. And when the old man says he'll do a thing he'll do it."

Hapgood stared at him speechless. And then, his hands driven deep into
his pockets, he began an agitated pacing up and down the porch, his
brows drawn, his eyes squinting as they had the habit of doing when he
was excited.

"What are we going to do?" he demanded, stopping before Conniston.

"I wish that somebody would tell me! We have a couple of horses. You
have seven dollars. Maybe," with a faint, forced smile, "we can ride
back to New York!"

With a disgusted sniff Hapgood left him again to pace restlessly up
and down. And finally, when he again stopped in front of Conniston's
chair, his face was white, his thin lips set bloodlessly.