Tom sat silent and dismayed for a moment. Then, “Well, let him do it, sir!” he exclaimed. “I’ll be making enough money for all of us in a few months. Why, Jimmy says we can clear five thousand dollars a year pretty soon!” “I hope he is right,” said Mr. Benton, “but that’s to be seen, Tom. Meanwhile, I’ve got to decide matters. I――I suppose you’d feel pretty bad if you had to give up the business, son?” “I――yes, sir,” muttered Tom, “I guess I should. We――we’re just getting everything going nicely.” After a moment’s pause: “Besides, sir, if I got out that wouldn’t stop the business, would it? Will and Jimmy could keep on just the same, couldn’t they?” “I suppose Connors means that you’re to persuade the others to give it up, too,” replied Mr. Benton with a sigh. “That wouldn’t be difficult, I guess?” “No, sir, I suppose not,” replied Tom miserably. There was silence in the room for several minutes. Mrs. Benton, moving quietly about the dining-room, glanced in anxiously now and then. At last, “Well, if it’s the only thing to do,” said Tom bravely, “I――we’ll have to do it, sir.” He smiled somewhat tremulously and got up. “I guess I’ll go upstairs and wash,” he murmured. “I wish it wasn’t necessary,” said his father troubledly. “I――I feel mighty bad about it, son.” “I guess it won’t kill me,” answered Tom, trying to grin. “Well――anyhow, we don’t have to decide to-night; we’ll think it over, son. Maybe――to-morrow――――” “I guess thinking it over won’t make it any easier,” answered Tom wisely. “It’ll have to be done, I guess. Only――only I’d like to kill Connors!” And he hurried out of the room so that his father would not see the angry tears in his eyes. Supper was a lugubrious meal that evening. The subject was not spoken of again and Mrs. Benton tried to be cheerful and make her husband and son forget for the time the trouble confronting them, but she received little assistance from the others, and they were all relieved when, just as Mrs. Benton was serving the preserved strawberries, there was a loud peal of the door-bell, and, before Tom could jump up to answer it, the door crashed open and Mr. Connors strode into the sitting-room beyond. Tom, on his feet, napkin in hand, stared as the liveryman strode forward to the dining-room door. Mr. Connors’ face was pale and distraught and he was gasping for breath as though he had been running. Mr. Benton leaped to his feet and started forward, but Mr. Connors spoke before there was a chance for questions. “Benton,” he said hoarsely, addressing Tom, “they’ve hurt my boy over to Finley Falls. Chase telegraphed me. I’ve got to get to him. There’s no train till eighty-forty and that may be too late. Can you get me there in that auto of yours? Speak quick!” “Your son’s hurt?” cried Mr. Benton. “I’m sorry, Bill! Is it――is it bad?” Mechanically the other searched in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of yellow paper, his eyes still fastened on Tom.