'Oh, quite. And yet, Roger, if you had to answer this question on oath, "Whom do you think you are most like in this world?" I don't mean superficially, but deep down in your vitals, what would you say? Your mother, your uncle, one of your friends on the golf links?' 'No.' 'Who?' Darkly, 'You.' 'Just how I feel.' There is such true sympathy in the manly avowal that Roger cannot but be brought closer to his father. 'It's pretty ghastly, father.' 'It is. I don't know which it is worse for.' They consider each other without bitterness. 'You are a bit of a wag at times, Roger.' 'You soon shut me up.' 'I have heard that you sparkle more freely in my absence.' 'They say the same about you.' 'And now that you mention it, I believe it is true; and yet, isn't it a bigger satisfaction to you to catch me relishing your jokes than any other person?' Roger's eyes open wide. 'How did you know that?' 'Because I am so bucked if I see you relishing mine.' '_Are_ you?' Roger's hold on the certain things in life are slipping. 'You don't show it.' 'That is because of our awkward relationship.' Roger lapses into gloom. 'We have got to go through with it.' His father kicks the coals. 'There's no way out.' 'No.' 'We have, as it were, signed a compact, Roger, never to let on that we care for each other. As gentlemen we must stick to it.' 'Yes. What are you getting at, father?' 'There is a war on, Roger.' 'That needn't make any difference.' 'Yes, it does. Roger, be ready; I hate to hit you without warning. I'm going to cast a grenade into the middle of you. It's this, I'm fond of you, my boy.' Roger squirms. 'Father, if any one were to hear you!' 'They won't. The door is shut, Amy is gone to bed, and all is quiet in our street. Won't you--won't you say something civil to me in return, Roger?' Roger looks at him and away from him. 'I sometimes--bragged about you at school.' Mr. Torrance is absurdly pleased. 'Did you? What sort of things, Roger?' 'I--I forget.' 'Come on, Roger.' 'Is this fair, father?' 'No, I suppose it isn't.' Mr. Torrance attacks the coals again. 'You and your mother have lots of confidences, haven't you?' 'I tell her a good deal. Somehow--' 'Yes, somehow one can.' With the artfulness that comes of years, 'I'm glad you tell her everything.' Roger looks down his cigar. 'Not everything, father. There are things--about oneself--' 'Aren't there, Roger!' 'Best not to tell her.' 'Yes--yes. If there are any of them you would care to tell me instead--just if you want to, mind--just if you are in a hole or anything?' 'No thanks,' very stiffly. 'Any little debts, for instance?' 'That's all right now. Mother--' 'She did?' Roger is ready to jump at him. 'I was willing to speak to you about them, but--' 'She said, "Not worth while bothering father."' 'How did you know?' 'Oh, I have met your mother before, you see. Nothing else?' 'No.' 'Haven't been an ass about a girl or anything of that sort?''