Father and son entered the long-closed office, a large, indeed a
stately room. It contained the same mahogany table at which Bonbright
Foote II had worked; the same chairs, the same fittings, the same
pictures hung on the walls, that had been the property of the first
crown prince of the Foote dynasty. It was not a bright place,
suggestive of liveliness or gayety, but it was decorously inviting--a
place in which one could work with comfort and satisfaction.

"Let me see you at your desk," said the father, smiling again. "I
have looked forward to seeing you there, just as you will look
forward to seeing YOUR son there."

Bonbright sat down, wondering if his father had felt oppressed as HE
felt oppressed at this moment. He had a feeling of stepping from one
existence into another, almost of stepping from one body, one
identity, to another. When he sat at that desk he would be taking up,
not his own career, but the career of the entity who had occupied
this office through generations, and would occupy it in perpetual
succession. Vaguely he began to miss something. The sensation was
like that of one who has long worn a ring on his finger, but omits to
put it on one morning. For that person there is a vague sense of
something missing throughout the day. Bonbright did not know what he
felt the lack of--it was his identity.

"For the next month or so," said his father, "about all you can hope
to do is to become acquainted with the plant and with our methods.
Rangar will always be at your disposal to explain or to give you
desired information. I think it would be well if he were to conduct
you through the plant. It will give you a basis to work from."