the business, so they looked to him to produce with all convenient
dispatch a male successor to himself. It was, so to speak, an
important feature of his job.

"I'll send in Rangar," said his father, not waiting for Bonbright to
reply to the last suggestion, and walked with long-legged dignity out
of the room.

Bonbright rested his chin on his palm and stared gloomily at the
wall. He felt bound and helpless; he saw himself surrounded by firm
and dignified shades of departed Bonbright Footes whose collective
wills compelled him to this or prohibited that course of action.

Adventure, chance, were eliminated from his life. He was to be no
errant musician, improvising according to his mood; the score he was
to play was before him, and he must play it note for note, paying
strict attention to rests, keys, andantes, fortissimos, pianissimos.
He had been born to this, had been made conscious of his destiny from
babyhood, but never had he comprehended it as he did on this day of
his investiture.

Even the selection and courting of a mate, that greatest of all
adventures (to the young), was made humdrum. Doubtless his mother
already had selected the girl, and presently would marry him to her.
... Somehow this was the one phase of the situation that galled him
most.

"I'll see about that," he muttered, rebelliously, "I'll see about
that."