"Hush, hush, mother! We're all leaving somebody behind, and we can't all come back. Don't let us talk of it. I'll run over and pay the check into my account, and then draw a little for everybody--something on account to keep them quiet." He looked at it--the check--lovingly, and sighed with satisfaction. "Since grandfather has turned up trumps, mother," Dick suggested, "it would only be decent of me to go up and thank him, wouldn't it? I've got to go up and say good-bye, anyway." "No, Dick don't go," cried the guilty woman, nervously. "But I must, mother. It won't do to give him any further excuses for fault-finding." "If you go, say nothing about the money." "But--" "Just to please me, Dick. Thank him for the money he has given you, and say nothing about the amount. Don't remind him. He might relent, and--and stop the check or something of that sort." "All right, mother." And Dick went off to the bank with the check, feeling that the world was a much-improved place. On his return, he took a train to Asherton Hall, in order that he might thank his grandfather. There was no one about when he arrived, and he strode indoors, unannounced. As he reached the bedroom door, Mrs. Ripon was coming out, red in the face and spluttering with rage, arguing with Trimmer, the valet; and the old man's voice could be heard, raised to a high treble, querulously storming over the usual domestic trifles. Dick stepped into the strange room, and saluted his relative. "Good-afternoon, grandfather. I've called to see you to say good-bye," he said, cheerily. "I don't want to see you, sir," snapped the old man, raising himself on his hands, and positively spitting the words out. His previous fit of anger flowed into the present interview like a stream temporarily dammed and released. "I am going away to the war, grandfather, and I may never return." "And a good job, too, sir--a good job, too." Dick's teeth were hard set. The insult had to be endured. "Don't come asking me for money, sir, because you won't get it." "No, grandfather, I have enough, thank you. Your generosity has touched me, after your close-fis--your talks about economy, I mean." "Generosity--eh?" snarled the spluttering old man. "No sarcasm, if you please. You insolent rascal!" He positively clawed the air, and his eyes gleamed. "I'll teach you your duty to your elders, sir. I've signed two checks for you. Do you think I'm going to be bled to death like a pig with its wizen slit?" "I want no more money," cried the young man, hotly. "You know that perfectly well, grandfather." "That's good news, then." The old man subsided and collapsed into his pillows. "I merely came to thank you, and to shake you by the hand. I am answering a patriotic call; and, if I fall in the war, you'll have no heir but my mother." "Don't flatter yourself that you're my heir, sir. I'll have you know you're not, sir. No delusions. You need expect nothing from me."