One photograph in particular, which stood by the clock on the mantel, set in a heavy frame of hammered gold, which he had made himself from the product of his first mine, riveted and held his attention. His first impulse was to tear these pictures all down and throw them in the fire. He had picked this one up first, to carry out his furious impulse, but something held his hand and he placed it back in its old place with the grim exclamation: "No! It's the act of a coward. I've got to live with my memories--or surrender at once." Again and again his eye came back to this picture. He had taken it twenty-three years ago in a little bedroom in a dirty hotel of a desolate, God-forsaken mining town in Nevada. How well he remembered it! He was poor then, and had just begun the first big fight of his life for wealth and power. The boy was four weeks old, and he had insisted on taking the picture of the mother with the baby in her arms. He had carefully posed her, standing by the window looking down into the child's upturned face. It had turned out a remarkable likeness of both--the young mother's face wreathed in smiles, tender and frail and happy, with the great joy of the dawn of motherhood shining in her eyes. He looked at it long and tenderly. And, as a thousand memories of life crowded his soul, he suddenly exclaimed: "God in heaven! What does she say to-day if she knows what I've done?" His eyes blinked, and the tears blinded them. He kissed the picture and buried his face in his hands as a sob of anguish shook his frame. "The girl's right. My boy's my boy after all. I'm wrong!" CHAPTER X SON AND FATHER When the Colonel had greeted Elena at breakfast next morning he quietly asked: "You met Norman?" "Yes." "I shall be glad to see him when he comes." Elena threw her arms impulsively around his neck. "Now you're a darling! Now you're big and strong and good and great again--and I love you." The Colonel stroked her hair slowly, and asked with a smile: "What time is he coming?" "He's not coming." Elena laughed. "Not coming?" the colonel repeated blankly. "No. You're going to see him." "Indeed!" "You see, Guardie, he is a chip off the old block." "It begins to look like he's the whole block," the Colonel remarked, dryly. "Can you blame him after the way you acted?" "I can't say I do, much. I like a boy of spirit----" "And individuality--that's your own pet idea Guardie." The Colonel was silent a moment. "Yes. I like his grit. Where will I find him?" "At his desk at work in the newspaper office." "I'll call him up and make an appointment." The Colonel seized the telephone, called the newspaper office, and asked for Norman. He waited for several minutes before any one reached the 'phone. He scarcely recognized the short, sharp business accent of Norman's voice: "Well, well, what is it?" The Colonel cleared his throat. "Here! Here! Get a move on you--what's the matter--I'm in a hurry!"