Seeing that his words had made no effect, Ryder thumped his desk with his fist and cried: "You see my weakness.

You see that I want you with me, and now you take advantage--you take advantage--" "No, father, I don't," protested Jefferson; "but I want to go away.

Although I have my studio and am practically independent, I want to go where I shall be perfectly free--where my every move will not be watched--where I can meet my fellow-man heart to heart on an equal basis, where I shall not be pointed out as the son of Ready Money Ryder.

I want to make a reputation of my own as an artist." "Why not study theology and become a preacher ?" sneered Ryder.
Then, more amiably, he said: "No, my lad, you stay here.

Study my interests--study the interests that will be yours some day." "No," said Jefferson doggedly, "I'd rather go--my work and my self-respect demand it." "Then go, damn it, go!" cried his father in a burst of anger.