Arriving at the bank he went immediately to the private office. His father was busy reading a paper on his desk, and Mason sank indolently into a chair and waited for him to speak. After a period of waiting he got impatient and remarked: “Well, Dad, let’s hear the fireworks.” “Huh,” snorted his father, “you took your time getting here.” “I started for the bank shortly after receiving your message, Dad,” he answered quietly. “What deviltry have you got into now?” the elder man demanded sternly, pointing to a newspaper on his desk. “Here’s an account of you in the paper of going into the ring at your club and fighting six rounds, a choice bit of scandal for the society column. Not being satisfied with that you had to take a party of chorus girls out joy-riding and have a smash-up.” “There’s no use getting excited about it, Dad. I know how you and mother feel about this affair.” “You’re a disgrace to the family,” thundered his father. “I was going to disinherit you, Sir, but I talked the matter over with your mother, and I am going to make you a proposition.” Mason was all attention now, he remembered once before when his father threatened to cut him off. “Well, let me hear the proposition, Dad,” he said, his face showing grave concern. “You know, Jack,” his father continued, “I have done better by you than you deserve. You won’t work in the bank or try to make a man of yourself. I’m through paying out good money on you for gambling debts and to spend for drink. I’ll give you one more chance and if you fail to make good I wash my hands of you. Early this morning I got in touch with a friend of mine who owns a ranch in Nevada. You go out there and after one year come to me and show me you have made a man of yourself. Then I’ll start you in business.” “I can’t see for the life of me, Dad, how my going out there will benefit me,” he declared soberly. “Son, I know it is a rough life, but if you come through as you should it will make a man of you. You have a good college education, and you can come back East fitted to tackle any business enterprise.” “Well, Dad, I’m game to try it,” agreed Mason after calm deliberation. “Here’s your letter of introduction,” said his father, handing him a letter. The younger man, glancing at the envelope, read: Tom Walters Bar X Ranch, Nevada. Noting his son’s look of surprise he explained: “The nearest town is called Trader’s Post, and it is about four hours’ ride on horseback. I got in touch with Tom at Trader’s Post by wire.” “Whew,” whistled Mason, “I suppose I will have to make that trip on horseback. You know, Dad, I’m soft for that sort of thing, having had all my joy rides in a high powered car.”