Phil soon became restless and discontented with office work. He had done the other thing too long and too well to enjoy civilization for more than a month or so at a time, and the financial crowd infuriated him. He was interested in mining problems. They were interested in mining profits. Owing to changes wrought by the war another great opportunity had arisen in a part of the world Phil knew better than any other member of his profession. “It’s a man’s job,” they told him, “and you’re the only one who could swing it.” Phil shook his head. “Not fair to the boy.” “But with the contract we’re prepared to offer you, why, your boy will be on Easy Street all his life.” That got him. “Just once more,” thought Phil. “I’ll clean up on this and then retire to the country--make a real home for him--dogs and horses. I’ll teach him to shoot and fish. That ought to bring us together.” So Junior’s father was arranging to go away again. He told the boy about the plan for the future. “And we’ll spend a lot of time in the woods together,” said Phil. “I’ll make a good camper of you. Your mother was a good camper.” This comforted the silent little fellow and he did not let the tears come until after Phil’s back was turned. Meanwhile Phil had been going into the school question with the same thoroughness he devoted to every other job he undertook. And now the epochal time had come for Junior to go away to boarding school. He was rather young for it, but Aunt Mary, it seems, was going to be married at last. She volunteered to accompany the boy on the journey and see him through the first day. His father was very busy, of course, with preparations for his much longer and more important journey. Junior had always been fond of Aunt Mary, had transferred to her a little of the passionate devotion that had belonged to his mother. Only a little. The rest was all for his father, though Phil did not know it, and sometimes watched these two together with hungry eyes, wondering how they laughed and loved so comfortably. On the evening before the great day his father said, “I know several of the masters up there.” A little later, he added, “One of the housemasters was a classmate of mine at college.” Then he said, “I’ve been thinking it over. Maybe I better go up there with you myself.” “Oh, if you only would!” thought the little fellow. But he considered himself a big fellow now and had learned to repress such impulses, just as he and the dogs had learned not to jump up and kiss Phil’s face. So all Junior said was, “That’s awfully kind of you, but can you spare the time?” He always became self-conscious in his father’s presence. “You’d rather have your Aunt Mary? Well, of course, that’s all right.” “No, but”--Junior dropped his eyes and raised them again--“sure I won’t be a nuisance to you?”