You know, I had Janet take a course at a business college, last winter, and Ross is in with his father and will be active for several years." * * * * * Thus it came about that on Monday morning at nine Arthur sauntered into the offices of the mills.

He was in much such a tumult of anger, curiosity, stubbornness, and nervousness as agitates a child on its first appearance at school; but in his struggle not to show his feelings he exaggerated his pose into a seeming of bored indifference.

The door of his father's private room was open; there sat Hiram, absorbed in dictating to a stenographer.

When his son appeared in the doorway, he apparently did not realize it, though in fact the agitation the young man was concealing under that unfortunate manner was calmness itself in comparison with the state of mind behind Hiram's mask of somber stolidity.
"He's trying to humiliate me to the depths," thought the son, as he stood and waited, not daring either to advance or to retreat.

How could he know that his father was shrinking as a criminal from the branding iron, that every nerve in that huge, powerful, seemingly impassive body was in torture from this ordeal of accepting the hatred of his son in order that he might do what he considered to be his duty?
At length the young man said: "I'm here, father." "Be seated--just a minute," said the father, turning his face toward his boy but unable to look even in that direction.
The letter was finished, and the stenographer gathered up her notes and withdrew.