His father got up, glared down at Wint angrily. “Don’t think I’m a fool, Wint,” he said, in a rush of words. “You made me look like one, but I’m not. You linked up with Caretall to make a jackass out of me; you went out of your way to shame me by your own shamelessness. I kicked you out with your tail between your legs, as I should have done long before. Now you come whining home again. Don’t try to tell me you’re not after something. I know you are. If you don’t want to say what it is, don’t. That’s your business. But don’t try to make me a fool.” Wint had sworn to keep his temper; and he did. But he got to his feet with a swift, silent movement that startled his father. And when Chase broke off, Wint said steadily: “I’ve told you the truth. It’s true I misbehaved--badly. You have a right to be angry with me. It’s true I did not know Caretall planned to stick me in over your head. You know that’s true. As far as the rest of it goes ... I came here to-night just to tell you that I’m sorry for--the things I did. And I want you to know I’m sorry. You’re my father. I’d like to have the right to come to you for advice; and I’d like to come to you for friendship, if nothing more. That’s all. I’ve come.” He turned toward the door. “I’ve come, and I’ll go.” When Wint turned toward the door, his father’s heart leaped as though it would choke him. He wanted to cry out to Wint not to go; he did cry out: “Wait!” Wint stopped and looked at him. “Haven’t you given me a right to think--to mistrust you?” the older man challenged. “Yes,” said Wint. “You’ve shamed me; and you’ve come near breaking your mother’s heart.” Wint found it hard to speak; and when he did speak, he said more than he had meant to say. “I want to make amends, sir,” he told his father. “There are some hurts that can’t be mended,” said Chase inexorably. Wint nodded; his shoulders slumped a little, and he would have turned again to the door. “I’ve said all I can say,” he explained, “so I guess I’d better go.” Chase shook his head. “See here, Wint,” he said. “Listen.” There was not yet friendliness in his voice; but there was a neutral quality that held Wint. “Listen,” said Chase. “I’ve learned some things, too, Wint. It’s only fair to say that I can see, now, I was a--bumptious father. And I’ve not changed. I’m too old to change. Probably there were ways where I wronged you. I don’t doubt it.” “No,” said Wint. “You were always decent to me.” “A father can be--decent to his son, without playing fair with him,” said his father. “A father can--give things to his son, and at the same time rob him of better things by the giving.” “You did your part, sir.” Chase hesitated, eyes on the floor. “I did my best for you, Wint,” he said. “I think I always meant to do what was--best for you. Did you always try to do what was best for me?” “No,” said Wint.