* * * * * Mr. Sprague said nothing more to Jim on the subject of Delia, which circumstance disconcerted and worried the boy more than he was willing to admit to himself. He tried to consider the matter calmly but his thoughts seemed to dissolve in a mist of beautiful hair, wide opened blue eyes, and white arms and bosom. “She is right,” he told himself. “We can’t marry now, and we love each other so much that we must be all in all to each other.” However, his conscience made him very miserable. He felt that one who had no religion should be morally strong. With all this he continued to go to Delia’s house. He did not understand why she designated certain evenings for his visits and forbade him to come on others. One evening, rather late, feeling very lonely and very much in love, he turned his steps toward her house, notwithstanding the fact that it was a proscribed day. He had nearly reached the gate when a man emerged from the doorway, and Jim, halting beneath one of the large trees that shaded the sidewalk, recognized his father. His first feeling was of anger that he was being spied upon, but this turned to amazement and cold rage as Delia called Sprague back and, through the half closed door, kissed him, straightening his hat which she had knocked awry, calling, “Good night, dearie,” as he went off. Jim watched his father disappear, and, after a moment’s hesitation, walked away with rapid strides. He sought his home when it was daybreak. The old standards by which Jim had measured values were of no more use to him. XIII Jim came to look at the world and people with clearer eyes. He saw that his father kept him in the store to save clerk hire and not with any intention of giving him a share in the business. He realized that he had no home or career in his native town. He thought matters out very carefully and fully. One morning at breakfast, after reading a letter just received from John, the complacent tone of which threw his own forlornness into relief, he announced to his father that he was going away to college. “You’re going to stay right where you are,” responded Mr. Sprague from his side of the table. “No, I’m going,” repeated Jim quietly. “Well, you won’t get a cent from me,” exclaimed his father with the air of saying the last word in an argument. “I suppose this is another of the fool notions you’ve got from that Winter boy.” “I didn’t expect anything from you,” explained Jim. Mr. Sprague passed one hand over his stubbly chin and regarded his son with cold curiosity. The elder Sprague was burly and inclined to stoop. He wore reading glasses and now he peered through them with as much detachment as an entomologist who has a mildly interesting insect under the microscope. He was, as usual, in his shirt sleeves, and his deliberate untidiness of dress seemed the aggressively flaunted signal of that coarseness of spirit which was a matter of pride with him.