“Of course we have nothing to do with that,” remarked Mills, slipping an ivory paper knife slowly through his fingers. “The old man is a failure, and the whole place is badly run down. I really need it for pasture.” “Oh, he’ll sell! We just have to be a little patient,” Carroll replied. “All right, but don’t close till the title’s cleared up. I don’t buy law suits. Come in, Shep.” Shepherd Mills had appeared at the door during this talk. His father had merely glanced at him, and Shepherd waited, hat in hand, his topcoat on his arm, till the discussion was ended. “What’s that you’ve got there?” his father asked, seating himself in a comfortable chair a little way from the desk. In drawing some papers from the pocket of his overcoat, Shepherd dropped his hat, picked it up and laid it on the desk. He was trying to appear at ease, and replied that it was a contract calling for a large order which the storage battery company had just made. “We worked a good while to get that,” said the young man with a ring of pride in his voice. “I thought you’d like to know it’s all settled.” Mills put on his glasses, scanned the document with a practiced eye and handed it back. “That’s good. You’re running full capacity now?” “Yes; we’ve got orders enough to keep us going full handed for several months.” The young man’s tone was eager; he was clearly anxious for his father’s approval. He had expected a little more praise for his success in getting the contract, but was trying to adjust himself to his father’s calm acceptance of the matter. He drummed the edge of the desk as he recited certain figures as to conditions at the plant. His father disconcertingly corrected one of his statements. “Yes; you’re right, father,” Shepherd stammered. “I got the July figures mixed up with the June report.” Mills smiled indulgently; took a cigarette from a silver box on the taboret beside him and unhurriedly lighted it. “You and Constance are coming over for dinner tonight?” he asked. “I think Leila said she’d asked you.” His senior’s very calmness seemed to add to Shepherd’s nervousness. He rose and laid his overcoat on the couch, drew out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, remarking that it was warm for the season. “I hadn’t noticed it,” his father remarked in the tone of one who is indifferent to changes of temperature. “There’s a little matter I’ve been wanting to speak to you about,” Shepherd began. “I thought it would be better to mention it here--you never like talking business at the house. If it’s going to be done it ought to be started now, before the bad weather sets in.” He paused, a little breathless, and Mills said, the least bit impatiently: “Do you mean that new unit at the plant? I thought we’d settled that. I thought you were satisfied you could get along this winter with the plant as it is.”