His father came to the door; and when he saw Wint, he stared at him coldly, and did not invite him to come in. Wint, with a sudden twinge of sorrow, saw that his father had changed and grown older in these last months. It seemed to Wint that his hair was thinner; there were new lines in his face; and his old benevolent condescension toward the world at large was gone. Wint said quietly: “I want to come in and talk with you if I may.” Chase hesitated, even then; but--he had been lonely as Wint had been lonely. He stepped to one side and said: “Very well.” Wint went in, and his father shut the door, and bade Wint come into the room off the hall that served him as library, and office, and den. He did not tell Wint to take off his coat, so Wint kept it on. Chase sat down at his desk, Wint took a chair facing him. He did not know how to begin. Chase said: “Well, what is it you want?” Wint hesitated, then he smiled a little wistfully; and he said: “I want to be--friends with you again.” His father abruptly looked away from him. Without looking at Wint, he asked: “Why?” Wint’s right hand moved in a curious, appealing way. “Isn’t it natural for a son to--want to be friends with his father, sir?” he suggested. Chase said harshly: “I told you, once, that I no longer counted you my son.” “Those things don’t go by what we want, sir,” Wint urged. “I--am your son. And you’re my father.” “Have you acted as a son should?” Chase asked coldly. “No,” said Wint, without palliation of the finality of the word, and Chase looked--and was surprised. “You’ve realized it, have you?” “Yes, sir.” There was one thing Chase wanted to do; and it made him feel ridiculous and ashamed of himself to want to do it. What he wanted to do was to take Wint in his arms. And both of them grown men! He shook his head, as though to brush this sentimental desire away. Foolishness! The young rip had made a laughingstock out of him. Yet here he was, ready to give in at a word. He said: “I suppose Amos sent you.” Wint bit his lips, and his face set faintly; but his voice was quiet enough when he answered. “No, sir,” he said. “You tell Amos,” Chase exclaimed, “that you can’t pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him. And he’ll be more anxious to get around me later on than he is now. Tell him that for me.” Wint shook his head slowly. “Amos didn’t send me,” he said again. “Thought Amos told you everything to do?” his father asked. “Haven’t got a mind of your own, have you?” “Yes,” Wint told him. “Yes, I think I have.” Chase considered, not looking at his son. He could not look at Wint and still hold himself together. After a while he asked: “Well, what do you want? You haven’t told me what you want.” “I want to be friends.” Chase flung that aside with a swift gesture. “I mean, what do you want to get out of me?” “Nothing.”