"I don't care for your kind of life, thanks," said Andrew primly, "and I repeat that I am not going to have my business--enlivened, if that's how you choose to put it, and my family disgraced, and my reputation lost; and if I let you go on another day as you've been going, it'll be too late to save any of them. But I don't want to be harder than I can help." He paused for a moment, and his lip grew longer and straighter. "So I'll offer you an alternative." "Well?" "If you'll guarantee to clear out of the country and not come back again, I'll take no further proceedings on the strength of this certificate. I don't want to put you in an asylum any more than you want to go, but I've got to protect myself." Mr. Walkingshaw mused. "When do you want me to start?" "At once." "At once!" "Yes, at once, before you see anybody else." "I'm not even to say good-by?" "No." "You've got some game on," said Heriot. "I've got to protect myself and my family." His father looked at him searchingly; but his face remained a solemn medallion of virtue. Then Mr. Walkingshaw again fell back in his chair and mused. Gradually the flicker of a smile appeared in his eye. It spread to his lips, and he sprang up cheerfully. "It's not half a bad idea!" he exclaimed. "I'm just getting to the age when a young man ought to go about a bit and see something of the world. New Zealand now--that's a fine country--or Japan--or Texas. By Gad, you know I've several times wanted to do a bit of roughing it and big game shooting lately." His son looked at him suspiciously. This cheerfulness was unusual in people he had worsted, and the unusual was always to be distrusted. But to the less vigilant, ordinary mind Mr. Walkingshaw merely presented the spectacle of a man of young middle-age with a heart some ten years younger still. "Of course it will be a wrench," he added, with a sobered air. "I'll miss 'em all: Frank--Ellen--Jean. By Gad, I shall miss Jean. However, it need only be for a year or two. Meanwhile--by Jingo, there's no doubt about it!--this is the chance of my life. Let's see now, what does one need? A revolver with six thingamajigs--top-boots and riding breeches--a good compass--" The chill voice of Andrew interrupted this catalogue. "Once you go away, you've got to stay away." "Stay away!" "Your allowance will depend on that." "My allowance!" gasped Heriot. "Your estate has got to be administered by me just as though you were" (instinctively this pious young man's face grew solemn) "taken away from us." "I wish I were not your father," sighed Heriot. "In happier circumstances, the pleasure of kicking you would just be immense." Andrew disliked physical brutality. His cheeks grew flabbier at the very idea of such an outrage--even in theory. "If you were to try anything of that kind, I warn you I'd withdraw my alternative." His father laughed reassuringly.