"Do you have to ask for your own property, in this day and age?" demanded Shirley. "When Father died, I was an heir to one half of what he possessed: home, farm, bank, bonds, and money on hand. Very properly, in the absence of the other heir, you took charge of the property and managed the business. But on the return of the other heir you made no accounting. In fact, you resented his interest in anything connected with the business." "When you returned from the war," said Carson, "we were approaching a depression that grew to disastrous proportions. Banks are the first to feel such a calamity. My whole time has been devoted to curtailment--to restricting loans and seeking deposits. Truly, we haven't earned a cent since the war ended." "So that's the reason you bought the fancy, high-priced limousine and gave several parties at the country club! That's the reason why you maintain those luxurious quarters in Chicago! You were wanting to show the public that...." "Never mind what I was doing," interrupted Carson angrily. "It's what you have done that is the matter under discussion, and we are getting nowhere. We might as well adjourn." "Not yet," demanded Shirley hastily. "Keep your seat. The show has now reached the second act. Let's sit it out." It was Shirley who stood up as Carson resumed his seat. "Our family was always reticent. We avoided publicity; didn't want Mister John Q. to know about our affairs. You surely remember how reluctant our father was when it was found that his private bank must be nationalized. One little share was issued to Aunt Carrie, one to John Powell, his old, trusted employee, and he held the rest. He didn't want the public to know about his private affairs. "I think I inherited most of his secretive qualities," Shirley continued. "I listened to a lot of rumors and then I began to investigate. My findings lead to but one conclusion: you allied yourself with gangsters in the hope of participating in their enormous gains only to find that you are the biggest sucker on their list." "I didn't favor anybody," said Carson hotly. "Our relations were simply that of banker and customer." "And to maintain cordial relations you deeded to them a fine but isolated farm where, uninterrupted, they could produce 'rotgut' to supply the entire Chicago area. Have you been out there lately? Father used to call it Forest Home. The Hereford cattle that he reared topped the market. It's different now. The gates are locked. A thug stands out in the roadway to divert traffic. In the night, truckloads of corn and coal arrive to produce the 'hell-fire' that is bottled, labeled, and distributed over the district." In the midst of this recital Carson dropped his head down on his arms, folded on the table.