It was evident that her heart was bound up in the boy far above any financial considerations, and it was also evident that she was afraid of the angry man she was facing; but she was not so much afraid that she was not willing to interpose her own body, if by so doing she could screen the boy. At the same time she cried to him, “Junior! Tell your father what happened to you. Explain!” Under the shelter of her protection, Junior stopped crying. He wiped his eyes and faced his father defiantly. “If I was on the City Council like you are, I’d fix up the sidewalks of this nasty old town so the boards wouldn’t fly up and throw folks down and ruin their clothes,” he cried. His father stared at him in amazement. Instantly Junior’s mother agreed with him. “That is quite true, Martin,” she said. “Only last week Jenny Sherman tripped on a loose board on her way to church. She almost broke her knee and ripped the whole front out of a very expensive silk dress. Some of these days somebody’s going to sue this town for damages and you will have the biggest part of them to pay. The only wonder is that Junior is not in worse shape than he is.” Reassured by her backing, Junior came from behind her, but he still held her arm. Martin Moreland surveyed the pair scornfully. “Will you please explain,” he said to his wife, “how merely tripping and falling could get Junior into his present condition?” Realizing that this was impossible, and anger and humiliation surging up in him, Junior cried out: “Of course, just falling only started it. The minute I was down that mean old coward of a Jason Peters took his chance to jump on my back and start a fight when I couldn’t help myself. I took off my coat and gave it to one of the boys to hold while I beat him up as he deserved, and when he couldn’t do anything with me, before I saw what he intended, Jason snatched my coat and tore it and dragged it in the gutter on purpose.” This immediately transferred Martin Moreland’s wrath and cupidity from Junior to Jason. “Why didn’t you tell your teacher?” he thundered. “It happened on the street. I wasn’t fit to go to school,” Junior made explanation. The elder Moreland lost control of himself. His power had been defied. The tangible proof of his wealth had been dragged in the gutter. The child of his heart had been hurt and shamed. Martin Moreland did not stop to remember that he had been at the point of hurting the boy himself; what he really was overpoweringly angry about was that he felt Junior’s condition to be a blow aimed vicariously at his own person. In his heart he knew how many hands would be raised against him, if by chance a first hand were raised by a leader. He knew what would happen to any man attacking him; he would see to it that a blow struck at him through his boy, even by another boy, should be so punished that another offence of the kind could never occur. He turned to his wife.