"He's all I have in the world, Robert. I've had to be father and mother to him. I've given him the best education money could buy, I've sent him to Europe to get that foreign finish every one talks about; and now he won't do what my heart is set on." "If the boy wants to go into business, why don't you make a place for him in your own concern? That's where he ought to be--to take the responsibilities off your shoulders, one by one, and to continue your name." "Put Allen in my furnaces?" Sanford demanded, his choleric attitude beginning to return. "How can you make a gentleman in my furnaces? Do you suppose I'd buy a twenty-thousand-dollar painting and hang it up in the cellar? No, sir; I mean to make something out of that boy better than his father is, and that isn't the place to do it. But in the diplomatic service they're all gentlemen--that's why I want to put him there." "And if you can't have your own way you prefer to lose the boy altogether?" "Oh, he'll come back, the young cub. He'll see which side his bread is buttered on. It'll be a long time before he can earn the five hundred a month I give him for an allowance, and he knows it. He'll be back." "I'm not so sure," Gorham said, seriously. "You don't think--" Sanford began, showing signs of alarm. "Would you in his place?" "That's nothing to do with it; he's only a boy." "Did you--in his place?" Sanford looked up quickly. "I had more cause," he replied. "My father was unreasonable; his isn't." "Allen's ideas on that subject may differ from yours. Now, if you want my advice, here it is: Go back to that boy. Tell him you're ashamed to have lost your temper, and advise him to guard against that greatest weakness which his father possesses. Tell him you want him to go into the diplomatic service for a time to gratify your ambition for him, but that if, after the trial, he prefers business you will stand right back of him and get him started. Tell him, as you have just told me, that he is all you have, and that he must make certain sacrifices for your sake, that he must bear with your weaknesses and profit by your points of strength. But, above all, make him feel that you believe in him, that you're proud of him, and that you've been a fool to make such a humiliating exhibition before him as you did this afternoon." The gathering storm in Stephen Sanford's face did not deter Gorham from finishing his remarks. He knew that his old friend had seldom, if ever, had the truth spoken to him as unreservedly as now; but he had been asked for his advice, and he proposed to give it. "You--you--" Sanford choked in his rage. "So that's what you think of me, is it? It's worth something to know that. Knuckle down to that young cub and have him putting it over me for the rest of my life? What do you take me for? I'll see him starve first. Why should you undertake to advise me about my boy--" "Chiefly because you asked it, Stephen."