"Sure; it’s in him. There’s iron in every Edgerton. They’re all full of ore. He’s taken longer to open his eyes than the usual litter, that’s all.... Got playing the art game, you say—like a kitten with a paper ball.... There’s art in him, too, I guess. Those gates were all right.... But—you mean to give him his chance?" Rivett nodded. "I am Edgerton, Tennant & Co. I’d like to have Edgerton go back there some day.... They were square people.... I might have used them a little easier.... My wife likes Edgerton.... She wishes it." "She wants him to have his chance," mused Dineen. "What she wants, _I_ want," said Rivett.... "And I might have been easier on Edgerton, Tennant & Co.... I would have been—if we hadn’t needed the plant." Dineen nodded gravely. "Sure! A poor corporal of industry like you, Jake, needs what he can pick up out o’ the ash can." For a full minute neither spoke. A slight flush faded from Rivett’s cheek bones. "You damned Irishman," he said, wincing, "when are you going back?" "To-night, I think.... There’s an ash can I haven’t raked over—the Carrol-Baker Company." "You’d better fix that," said Rivett dryly; "there may be a lump of slag or two we can use for filling in ballast." Dineen winked, rose, deposited the ashes from his cigar on the window ledge, and sauntered forth—to meet Jack walking swiftly and firmly toward his father’s study. "Hello, young man!" exclaimed Dineen, "is the house afire, or has the brown jug below run dry?" "No fear," said the young man, smiling, but continuing on his way. Dineen looked after him with shrewd, blue eyes. "I’m a monkey," he said to himself, "if that young man isn’t on some such errand as took his sister to the same place an hour ago. If he is, God help him! for Jacob’s still sore all over with the news from the front stoop." Jack knocked, and his father, who had settled himself for five minutes’ hard thinking, rapped out: "Who’s there?" "It’s Jack. May I come in?" "Come on," said his father grimly, "I am—" but catching sight of his son’s face he stopped short. "Father?" "What?" snapped Rivett senior, instinctively squaring his shoulders. "May I talk to you as two men ought to talk together, or must I assume the attitude of a child to its father?" "Talk as you feel. I had a notion that you were still my son—maybe I’m mistaken. In that case you may try to bully me if you care to. Go on." "I didn’t mean that, dad." "I know you didn’t; but you’ve come in here with your mind already made up that I won’t do what you want me to do. That’s no good, Jack. Go into everything cocksure that you’ll win out. It’s the only way you stand any chance at all. Proceed." The boy sat down and gazed absently out of the window; after a few moments he turned his head and looked at his father. "Dad," he said, "I’m in love."