"But the very title of this pamphlet seems to me calculated to interest the careless and attract the thoughtful. It is called _The Prison Walls must Cast no Shadow_." With an arm outstretched he seemed to deliver the words of the title one by one from the palm of his hand. Then he stood smiling, confident, awaiting applause. Dick's face, which had shown the highest expectancy, slowly fell in a profound disappointment. He laid down his knife and fork. "Oh, come, father. All walls cast shadows. It entirely depends upon the altitude of the sun." Mr. Hazlewood returned to his seat and spoke gently. "The phrase, my boy, is a metaphor. I develop in this pamphlet my belief that a convict, once he has expiated his offence, should upon his release be restored to the precise position in society which he held before with all its privileges unimpaired." Dick chuckled in the most unregenerate delight. "You are going it, father," he said, and disappointment came to Mr. Hazlewood. "Richard," he remonstrated mildly, "I hoped that I should have had your approval. It seemed to me that a change was taking place in you, that the player of polo, the wild hunter of an inoffensive little white ball, was developing into the humanitarian." "Well, sir," rejoined Dick, "I won't deny that of late I have been beginning to think that there is a good deal in your theories. But you mustn't try me too high at the beginning, you know. I am only in my novitiate. However, please send it to Aunt Margaret, and--oh, how I would like to hear her remarks upon it!" An idea occurred to Mr. Hazlewood. "Richard, why shouldn't you take it over yourself this afternoon?" Dick shook his head. "Impossible, father, I have something to do." He looked out of the window down to the river running dark in the shade of trees. "But I'll go to-morrow morning," he added. And the next morning he walked over early to Great Beeding. His aunt would have received the pamphlet by the first post and he wished to seize the first fine careless rapture of her comments. But he found her in a mood of distress rather than of wordy impatience. The Pettifers lived in a big house of the Georgian period at the bottom of an irregular square in the middle of the little town. Mrs. Pettifer was sitting in a room facing the garden at the back with the pamphlet on a little table beside her. She sprang up as Dick was shown into the room, and before he could utter a word of greeting she cried: "Dick, you are the one person I wanted to see." "Oh?" "Yes. Sit down." Dick obeyed. "Dick, I believe you are the only person in the world who has any control over your father." "Yes. Even in my pinafores I learnt the great lesson that to control one's parents is the first duty of the modern child." "Don't be silly," his aunt rejoined sharply. Then she looked him over. "Yes, you must have some control over him, for he lets you remain in the army, though an army is one of his abominations."