There was another moment of silence in the room, broken at last by Tom’s voice, low and trembling. “What――what are you to――me?” he faltered. The half smile returned to the man’s face, but it held no suggestion of amusement. It seemed, rather, the smile of one ruefully contemplating his own perplexities. But his eyes never left Tom’s as he replied. “I regret that this has had to happen just now,” he said quietly. “I hadn’t meant it to. But you’ve a right to know.” His voice fell to a gentler tone and he added deprecatingly, “I am your father.” * * * * * “Of course,” said Loring a few minutes later, when he and Clif were alone, “we ought to have guessed it long ago. After all, they’re ridiculously alike, Clif.” “Alike? Gosh, I can’t see that! And I don’t see how any one could have guessed――” “I don’t mean in looks, but in――in ways. Think, Clif. Forget their looks. Shucks, put another twenty years on Tom, and give him four of them in the War, and he’d be Mr. Cooper――I mean Mr. Kemble――Mr. Cooper-Kemble――all over again.” “Do you think so?” asked Clif thoughtfully. “Yes, they are alike some ways. But I’d never have guessed they were father and son. And Tom told me about his dad, too, months ago. Gosh, I wonder――” Clif looked slightly alarmed. “What?” “He said he was going to tell his father what he thought about him if he ever found him, Loring! Do you suppose he will?” Loring laughed. “I don’t think you need worry about that. Tom’s crazy about him, Clif. Has been for a month!” Wattles entered, bearing a huge kit-bag from the storeroom. “Look here,” announced Loring, fearsomely, “you’re not going to do any more packing to-night, Wattles. You’re going over to the gym and see the show and have a good time. By the way, what time is it? We’ve got to be―― Oh, I say, Wattles, here’s a stunner! Who do you suppose Mr. Cooper is?” “Mr. Cooper, sir?” Wattles set the bag down, dusted his hands carefully and allowed himself something that was almost a smile. “Mr. Cooper is Mr. Tom’s father, Mr. Loring.” “_Wha-at!_ How the dickens did _you_ ever hear it?” “I didn’t exactly hear it, sir. I――er――I came to the conclusion by observation. Perhaps, sir, you’ll recall Mr. Cooper leaving a leather cigar case behind him one afternoon.” “No, I don’t, but what about it?” “I took the liberty, sir, of examining it. Not from any desire to――er――pry into the gentleman’s affairs, sir, but merely because I have a――a weakness, as you might say, for leather articles――” “That’s all right! Get on, Wattles, for Pete’s sake!” “Yes, sir. Well, Mr. Loring, there was a name printed under the flap; in gold letters, sir: ‘J. M. Cooper-Kemble’ it was.” “For the love of lemons!” sighed Loring. “How long ago was this, Wattles?” “Perhaps a fortnight, sir.” “And you never said a word!” Wattles drew himself up slightly. “I am not the sort, Mr. Loring, to violate a gentleman’s confidence,” he replied with dignity.