"Oh, yes, of course you will. It will no doubt do you great good to humiliate me." "When you feel, sir, that I am humiliating you, one word is all you need to say." "What's that? Come now, no foolish threats. What is it you want to do?" "I have an idea," Henry answered, "that I could manage a newspaper." "The devil you have." "Yes, the devil I have, if you insist. I am a newspaper man and I like the work. It holds a fascination for me while everything else is dull. Now, I have a proposal to make, not a modest one, perhaps, but one which I hope you will patiently consider--if you can. It would be easy for you to get control of some afternoon newspaper. I can take charge of it, and in time pay back the money you invest. I don't ask you to give me a cent." The merchant was about to reply, when Mrs. Witherspoon entered the room. "Why, what is the matter?" she asked. Witherspoon resumed his seat, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, stretched forth his legs, crossed his feet and nervously shook them. "What is the matter?" she repeated. "Everything's the matter," Witherspoon declared. "I have suggested"--he didn't say demanded--"that Henry should go into the store and gradually take charge of the whole thing, and he positively refuses. He wants to ran a newspaper." The merchant grunted and shook his feet. "But is there anything so bad about that?" she asked. "I am sure it is no more than natural. My uncle Louis used to write for the Salem _Monitor_." He looked at her--he did not say a word, but he looked at her. "And Uncle Harvey"-- He grunted, flounced out of his chair and quitted the room. "Mother," said Henry, getting up and taking her hand, "I am grieved that this dispute arose. I know that he is set in his ways, and it is unfortunate that I was compelled to cross him, but it had to come sooner or later." "I am very sorry, but I don't blame you, my son. If you don't want to go into the store, why should you?" They heard Witherspoon's jolting walk, up and down the hall. "You have but one life here on this earth," she said, "and I don't see why you should make that one life miserable by engaging in something that is distasteful to you. But if your father has a fault it is that he believes every one should think as he does. Don't say anything more to him to-night." When Henry went out Witherspoon was still walking up and down the hall. They passed, but took not the slightest notice of each other. How different from the night before. Henry lay awake, thinking of the dead boy, and pictured his eternal sleeping-place, hard by the stormy sea. CHAPTER X. ROMPED WITH THE GIRL.