"Yes, Dad."
"I can always think best when I'm cycling like mad."
"Yes, Dad, I know."
"When I'm scorching along the roads, like a lunatic, I can think. At any other time, I can't."
"Yes."
"And I thought a great deal to-day, Addie. As a rule, I never think about anything. It tired me to-day even more than the cycling itself. I'm tremendously tired."
"Well, Dad, go to bed."
"No, I want to talk to you. I want to sit with you like this. You're my friend, aren't you, your father's friend? Or aren't you that any longer?"
"Of course I am."
"You're so cold, Addie, you don't care a bit."
"Yes, Dad, I do care."
And he pulled Van der Welcke to him and pressed his father's head against his chest:
"Lie like that now and talk away. I do care."
"I thought a great deal, Addie, cycling. This morning, I was angry, furious, desperate. I could have done something violent, broken something, murdered somebody."
"Come, come! . . ."
"Yes, murdered . . . I don't know whom . . . I felt, Addie, that I could have become very happy if . ."
