In the evening of this climaxing day, David and the young attorney were once more dining together in Vignaux’s café. The strain was off, and for the first time since his home-coming, David was free to begin the consideration of his own future. It was Oswald who gave the table talk its start in the proper direction. “You are footloose at last, David, and I can imagine that you are mighty glad of it,” was the way the start was given. “It has been a new experience for you, and you have certainly buckled down to it like a man.” David’s smile was boyishly complacent. “Sure I have; there was no reason why I shouldn’t. Isn’t that what a man’s son is for, in the last analysis?” “Yes, but----” “But what?” “Oh, I don’t know. A good many sons don’t seem to see it in that light; and in your case--well, I’ve known you a long time, David, and I didn’t think you had it in you.” “‘Faithful are the wounds of a friend,’” David quoted, with a return of the good-natured smile. “What have I done to make you think small of me? Or is it something that I haven’t done?” “Neither,” was the thoughtful reply. “It’s just--oh, well; I guess it is because we were boys together, and I couldn’t seem to realize that you have grown up.” “You and Dad are the limit. Do you realize it now?” “Y-yes; to some extent. I’ve been watching you through this business whirl. You’ve done well; splendidly well. But it was the fighting of the untrained soldier.” “Of course it was. What I didn’t know of the actual details of the business would have filled a library.” “That isn’t what I meant; I guess I can’t express myself clearly enough to make you understand just what it is that I do mean. It sizes itself up something like this: you’re so wholesome and straightforward and decent, David----” “Break it off,” laughed David; “you make me blush!” “That’s it,” said the keen-eyed young fellow across the table; “you do blush. Which is the proof of the pudding. But I mustn’t devil you when you’re tired; tired and more or less discouraged.” “Discouraged? Not a bit of it. Why should I be discouraged?” “Most fellows would be, in your shoes. You’ve had every reason to believe that you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth--or at least, a triple-plated one.” “I? Not in a thousand years!” grinned the son whose light was of a proper filial brightness. “I’ve known all along that the Middleboro Security would have to be wound up some time. Dad is all the fine things you can say of him, Bert, but he wasn’t cut out for a successful banker. He knows it as well as anybody.” Oswald looked up questioningly. “You haven’t any twinges of your own, Dave? It used to be the town’s idea that you’d some day come back and marry Judith Fallon and settle down to be Vallory Number Two in the banking business.” “Marry Judith? What put that idea into the town’s head--or yours?” “You did,” said Oswald gravely.