The old man drew in a deep breath and said, with a pitiful attempt at playfulness: “That is why I called you Thomas, always Thomas. Now that you are a man you are Thomas. But you never will know how Thomas sounded to me when you were ten! When I heard other people call you Tommy I envied them, for I didn't dare! I didn't dare!” Tommy irrepressibly rose from his chair and stood beside his father, who thereupon rose. And Tommy threw his arms about his father, as a boy does when he seeks the comfort of his mother's love. “Dad! Dad! Poor dad!” “Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!” muttered Mr. Leigh, brokenly. “You are a man now and I can't spoil you by calling you Tommy! I can't can I? My son! Oh, my son, Tommy!” “You can call me anything you please,” said Tommy, brokenly, “so long as you call me your son.” Tommy was patting the old man's heaving shoulders protectingly. “It's all right, dad.” Then Tommy, he knew not why, said: “Call me anything, father! You don't know how much I love you!” “Let us be men, my son,” said Mr. Leigh, disengaging Tommy's arms from about his neck. “Sit down and let us finish our business.” Mr. Leigh sat down. His hands were trembling, and his face was wet with tears. “Daddy, you must not lose your grip like that. It's all right,” said Tommy, brokenly, unaware that his own face was wet. “After all these years,” muttered Mr. Leigh, “I--I couldn't help it, Thomas--Tommy boy.” His eyes were moist with tears and very bright with a feverish excitement. “Well, let us finish. While I had taken pains never to let you know I was a rich man--I am not really very rich--I had never spoken to you about a profession. You did not show a special liking for any, and after your graduation the decision as to what you should do with your life confronted me. I wasn't interested in your business success, but it seemed to me that you ought to do more than merely take care of what I should leave you. I knew that, barring accidents, I should live until you were old enough to become the sort of man you would be after I died.