“There's something I'll tell you that I haven't told any one else.” He glanced again at Ryder to see the effect of the proposed confidence, and again the latter nodded for him to go on. “I am going away. I haven't told my son yet, but I've got it all planned, and when I am gone you won't have any reason to hate Dannie, will you?” “That's an admirable idea, Mr. Oakley, and if Dannie, as you call him, has half your good-sense he'll follow your example.” “No; he can't leave. He must stay. He's the manager of the road,” with evident pride. “He's got to stay, but I'll go. Won't that do just as well?” a little anxiously, for he could not fathom the look on Ryder's dark face. Ryder only gave him a smile in answer, and he continued, hurriedly: “You see, the trouble's been about me and my working in the shops. If I hadn't come here there'd have been no strike. As for Dannie, he's made a man of himself. You don't know, and I don't know, how hard he's worked and how faithful he's been. What I've done mustn't reflect on him. It all happened when he was a little boy--so high,” extending his hand. “Mr. Oakley,” said Ryder, coldly and insultingly, “I propose, if I can, to make this town too hot to hold your son, and I am grateful to you for the unconscious compliment you have paid me by this visit.” “Dannie don't know I came,” quickly. “No, I don't suppose he does. I take it it was an inspiration of your own.” Roger Oakley had risen from his seat. “What's Dannie ever done to you?” he asked, with just the least perceptible tremor in his tones. Ryder shrugged his shoulders. “We don't need him in Antioch.” The old man mastered his wrath, and said, gently: “You can't afford to be unfair, Mr. Ryder. No one can afford to be unfair. You are too young a man to persevere in what you know to be wrong.” To maintain his composure required a great effort. In the riotous days of his youth he had concluded most arguments in which he had become involved with his fists. Aged and broken, his religion overlay his still vigorous physical strength but thinly, as a veneer. He squared his massive shoulders and stood erect, like a man in his prime, and glowered heavily on the editor. “I trust you have always been able to make right your guiding star,” retorted Ryder, jeeringly. The anger instantly faded from the old convict's face. He was recalled to himself. Ordinarily, that is, in the presence of others, Ryder would have felt bound to treat Roger Oakley with the deference due to his years. Alone, as they were, he was restrained by no such obligation. He was in an ugly mood, and he proceeded to give it rein. “I wish to hell you'd mind your own business,” he said, suddenly. “What do you mean by coming here to tell me what I ought to do? If you want to know, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I am going to hound you and that precious son of yours out of this part of the country.”