"Why, father?"

"I must have something to drink."

"_No_, father!"

"But, my boy, I can't go on! I can't walk! You don't know what I'm
suffering!"

"No, father!"

"I've got the money left--I'm not asking you. I'll come right with
you--on my word of honor I will!"

And so they would fight it out--all the way back to the
lodging-house where they lived, and where the mother sat and wept.
And here they would put him to bed, and lock up his clothing to keep
him in; and here, with drugs and mineral-waters, and perhaps a
doctor to help, they would struggle with him, and tend him until he
was on his feet again. Then, with clothing newly-brushed and face
newly-shaven he would go back to the world of men; and the boy would
go back to his dreams.

Section 2. Such was the life of Thyrsis, from earliest childhood to
maturity. His father's was a heritage of gentle breeding and high
traditions--his forefathers were cavaliers, and had served the
State. And now it had come to this--to hall bedrooms in
lodging-houses, and a life-and-death grapple with destruction! And
when Thyrsis came to study the problem, he found that it was a
struggle without hope; his father was a man in a trap.