“That's what you'll do. Do you think my friends will want to know a man who is the son of a convict? I've got a future before me. Already I've been mentioned for governor. What chance would I have when people know my father is a thief?” “Son,” winced the old man. “Oh, well! I'm not picking my words,” James went on with angry impatience. “I'm telling you the facts. I've got enemies. Every strong man has. They'll smash me like an empty eggshell.” “They don't need to know about me. I'll not do any talking.” “That's all very well. Things leak out,” James grumbled a little more graciously. “Well, you better sit down now you're here. I thought you were living in Arkansas.” “So I am. I've done right well there. And I thought I'd take a little run out to see you. I didn't know but what you might need a little help.” He glanced aimlessly around the well-furnished office. “But I expect you don't, from the looks of things.” “If you think I've got money you're wrong,” James explained. “I'm just starting in my profession, and of course I owe a good deal here and there. I've been hard pressed ever since I left college.” His father brightened up timidly. “I owe you money. We can fix that up. I've got a little mill down there and I've done well, though it was hard sledding at first.” James caught at a phrase. “What do you mean?” “Owe me money! “I knew it must be you paid off the shortage at the Planters' National. When I sent the money it was returned. You'd got ahead of me. I was THAT grateful to you, son.” The lawyer found himself flushing. “Oh, Jeff paid that. He was earning money at the time and I wasn't. Of course I intended to pay him back some day.” “Did Jeff do that? Then you and he must be friends. Tell me about him.” “There's not much to tell. He's managing editor of a paper here that has a lot of influence. Yes. Jeff has been a staunch friend to me always. He recognizes that I'm a rising man and ought to be kept before the public.” “I wonder if he's like his father.” “Can't tell you that,” his son replied carelessly. “I don't remember Uncle Phil much. Jeff's a queer fellow, full of Utopian notions about brotherhood and that sort of thing. But he's practical in a way. He gets things done in spite of his softheadedness.” There was a knock at the door. “Mr. Jefferson Farnum, sir.” James considered for a second. “Tell him to come in, Miss Brooks.” The lawyer saw that the door was closed before he introduced Jeff to his father. It gave him a momentary twinge of conscience to see his cousin take the old man quickly by both hands. It was of course a mere detail, but James had not yet shaken hands with his father. “I'm glad to see you, Uncle Robert,” Jeff said. His voice shook a little. There was in his manner that hint of affection which made him so many friends, the warmth that suggested a woman's sympathy, but not effeminacy.