the virile bronze. "Think of my son doing that when he could do all
this!" He swept his arm in a great circle which included the horizon
beyond the doors and the windows. "It beats me, and because it beats me,
and because he defies me, I've made up my mind what to do."

"Don't do anything you'd be sorry for, boss. He ain't a fool because
he's not what you are." He nodded towards the statue. "You think that's
pottering. I think it's good stuff. It will last, perhaps, when what
you and I do is forgotten."

There was something big and moving in Tarboe. He was a contradiction.
A lover of life, he was also reckless in how he got what he wanted.
If it could not be got by the straight means, then it must be by the
crooked, and that was where he and Grier lay down together, as it were.
Yet he had some knowledge that was denied to John Grier. The soul of the
greater things was in him.

"Give the boy a chance to work out his life in his own way," he said
manfully. "You gave him a chance to do it in your way, and you were
turned down. Have faith in him. He'll probably come out all right in
the end.

"You mean he'll come my way?" asked the old man almost rabidly. "You
mean he'll do the things I want him to do here, as you've done?"

"I guess so," answered Tarboe, but without conviction in his tone. "I'm
not sure whether it will be like that or not, but I know you've got a son
as honest as the stars, and the honest man gets his own in the end."

There was silence for some time, then the old man began walking up and