of his had done, he could not have stung him with such a taunt as that. And his thought showed in his face.
"Well, then," his father cried, "answer me! What do you hope to do here? Why did you leave college? Why do you refuse to come home? Do you hear?" He brought his fist down on the table with a blow that jarred the dishes. "Answer me!"
Don threw out a hand in one of those nervous and futile gestures that were characteristic of him. "Because I can't! Because I won't! Because there's nothing there—the life—nothing! I hate it. I'd die first."
The lawyer pointed a keen finger at him. "You'll die here—or you'll do worse. You've been here now a whole summer, and you're no farther ahead than you were the day you came. Don't think you can deceive me. I know you. You're as foolish—as unpractical—as a girl. You've been living on the money you had from your aunt and your uncle. When you haven't that—you'll have nothing. You're living a beggar's life now, and you refuse to come home because there you'd have to work. The fear of work drove you to college. You idled for a whole year, and when your examinations impended you ran away. You're a lazy loafer. You'll come home and get to work—or you'll stay here and starve. Your uncle will help you no more. I'll see to that!"
Don swallowed, white. "Thanks. If you won't help me, at least you can"
"Help you! Help you to what?"
He threw his hat on the table. "I don't want your help. I don't want anybody's help. I'm going to live
