Jim's father sputtered as he pulled himself out of his chair: “Wha-what's this? You--you damned young cub! You--why--what--who--oh, you jackass! You big, lumbering, brainless, heartless bonehead! Oh--whew! Look at your poor mother!” Jim was frightened. She was pounding at her huge breast with one hand and clutching her big throat with another. Her husband whirled to a siphon, filled a glass with vichy, and gave it to Jim to hold to her lips while he ran to throw open a window. Jim knelt by his mother and felt like Cain bringing home the news of the first crime. Her son's remorse was the first thing that Eve felt, no doubt; at least, it was the first that Mrs. Dyckman understood when the paroxysm left her. She felt so sorry for her lad that she could not blame him. She blamed the woman, of course. She cried awhile before she spoke; then she caressed Jim's cheeks and blubbered: “But we mustn't make too much of a fuss about a little thing like a wedding. It's his first offense of the kind. I suppose he fell into the trap of some little devil with a pretty face. Poor innocent child, with no mother to protect him!” “Poor innocent scoundrel!” old Dyckman snarled. “He probably got her into trouble, and she played on his sympathy.” This was what Jim sorely needed, some unjust accusation to spur him out of his shame. He sprang to his feet and confronted his father. “Don't you dare say a word against my wife.” “Oh, look at him!” his father smiled. “He's grown so big he can lick his old dad. Well, let me tell you, my young jackanapes, that if anybody has said anything against your wife it was you.” “What have I said?” “You've said that you married her secretly. You've not dared to let us see her first. You've not dared to announce your engagement and take her to the church like a gentleman. Why? Why? Answer me that, before you grow so tall. And who is she, anyway? I hear that you had a prize-fight with Peter Cheever and got expelled from the club.” “When did you hear that?” “It's all over town. What was the fight about? Was he interested in this lady, too?” One set of Jim's muscles leaped to the attack; another set held them in restraint. “Be careful, dad!” he groaned. “Peter Cheever never met my wife.” “Well, then, what were you fighting him about?” “That's my business.” “Well, it's my business, too, when I find the name of my son posted for expulsion on the board of my pet club. You used to be sweet on Cheever's wife. You weren't fighting about her, were you?” This chance hit jolted the bridegroom so perceptibly that his father regretted having made it. He gasped: “Great Lord, but you're the busy young man! Solomon in all his glory--”