Don stammered: "I can't—I can't explain."
"Why not?"
"I can't go back—that's all. I can't go back."
"Why not?"
Don shook his head, his face averted. There was a long silence. He leaned back against the jamb of the door, and his eyes fell on a frying-pan that was on the end of the table. The bacon fat in it had jellied disgustingly. He found himself wishing that he had washed up before his father came.
Mr. Gregg continued: "I came down with your uncle, who is taking Conroy home. He wished you to return with us. Will you go with him—if you will not with me?" When he received no answer, he said more sharply: "You understand that he will not assist you to remain here. Any arrangement which he made with you terminates on your cousin's leaving. If you are determined to defy us, you must do so without his assistance."
Don saw and despised the diplomacy with which his father had manœuvred in order to arrive with this ultimatum. He said: "He hasn't assisted me."
"Don't lie, sir!" his father snapped.
"I don't lie."
"You tell a falsehood!"
"I borrowed money from him. I"
"Exactly."
"I'll pay it back."
"No doubt. You are apparently"—he glanced at the table—"living in luxury here. Have you earned a single penny yet?"
Don shut his lips. He felt that no matter what a son
