“You can’t deny I have a legal right to make the contest,” pursued Arthur.

“Undoubtedly.”

“And a moral right, too,” said Arthur, somewhat defiantly.

“Yes,” assented Dory.  The tone of the “yes”—­or was it Arthur’s own self-respect—­made him suspect Dory of thinking that a man might have the clearest legal and moral right and still not be able to get his honor’s consent.  “But why discuss the matter, Arthur?  You couldn’t be changed by anything I’d say.”

“We will discuss it!” exclaimed Arthur furiously.  “I see what your plan is.  You know I’m bound to win; so you’ll try to influence Del and mother against me, and get the credit for taking high ground, and at the same time get the benefit of the breaking of the will.  When the will’s broken, mother’ll have her third; you think you can stir up a quarrel between her and me, and she’ll leave all of her third to Del and you.”

Arthur had started up threateningly.  There showed at his eyes and mouth the ugliest of those alien passions which his associations had thrust into him, and which had been master ever since the reading of the will.  The signs were all for storm; but Dory sat impassive.  He looked steadily at Arthur until Arthur could no longer withstand, but had to drop his eyes.  Then he said:  “I want you to think over what you have just said to me, Artie—­especially your calculations on the death of your mother.”

Arthur dropped back into his chair.

“Honestly, Artie, honestly,” Dory went on, with the friendliest earnestness, “isn’t there something wrong about anything that causes the man you are by nature to think and feel and talk that way, when his father is not a week dead?”

Arthur forced a sneer, but without looking at Dory.

“Do you remember the day of the funeral?” Dory went on.  “It had been announced in the papers that the burial would be private.  As we drove out of the front gates there, I looked round—­you remember it was raining.  There were uncovered farm wagons blocking the streets up and down.  There were thousands of people standing in the rain with bared heads.  And I saw tears thick as the rain drops streaming down faces of those who had known your father as boy and man, who had learned to know he was all that a human being should be.”

Arthur turned away to hide his features from Dory.

“That was your father, Artie.  What if he could have heard you a few minutes ago?”

“I don’t need to have anyone praise my father to me,” said Arthur, trying to mask his feelings behind anger.  “And what you say is no reason why I should let mother and Del and myself be cheated out of what he wanted us to have.”

Dory left it to Arthur’s better self to discuss that point with him.  “I know you’ll do what is right,” said he sincerely.  “You are more like your father than you suspect as yet, Artie.  I should have said nothing to you if you hadn’t forced your confidence on me.  What I’ve said is only what you’d say to me, were I in your place and you in mine—­what you’ll think yourself a month from now.  What lawyer advised you to undertake the contest?”