"Always a good boy, always, always--" He was breathing heavily, long deep breaths.
"Lift me up, Barry," he said.
Barry sat on the bed, put his arm around his father's shoulders, and lifted him up.
"That's better--hold me closer, Barry--You won't hurt me--Oh, it's good--to feel--your arms--strong arms--Barry." "You made them strong, dad," said Barry, in a clear, steady voice.
The father nestled his head upon his son's shoulder.
"Barry," he said in the low tone of one giving a confidence, "don't ever forget--to thank God--for these eighteen years--together--You saved me--from despair--eighteen years ago--when she went away--you know--and you have been--all the world to me--my son--" "And you to me, dad," said his son in the same steady tone.
"I've tried all my life--to make you know--how I love you--but somehow I couldn't--" "But I knew, dad," said Barry.

"All my life I have known." "Really ?" asked his father.

"I--wonder--I don't think--you quite know--Ah--my boy--my boy--You don't--know--you--can't.

Barry," he said, "I think--I'm going out--I'm going--out--no, in--your word--my boy--in--eh--Barry ?" "Yes, dad," said his son.

"Going in.