“Well, you don’t get it.  See?” retorted the head of the Hands as rudely as he could ever have spoken in old days to his humblest subordinate.

“Then, Father, if that’s your last word on the subject,” said Petro, rising, “this means for you and me, where business is concerned, the parting of the ways.”

The old man’s sallow face was slowly, darkly suffused with red.  “You’re trying to bully me,” he grunted.  “But I’m not taking any bluff.”

“You misjudge me.”  Petro still kept his temper.  “I’d be a disgusting cad to try on such a game with you, and I don’t think I am that.  I’m more thankful than I can tell you for all you’ve done for me.  You’ve had a hard life yourself, and you’ve secured me an easy one.  You never had time to see the world, but you let me see it because I longed to—­when I saw you had no use for me in the business.  You let me give money away and, thanks to your generosity, one or two schemes I had at heart are in working order already.  There’s enough saved out of my allowance for the last few years to see them through, if I never take another cent from you.  And I never will, from this day on, Father, while you run the Hands on present lines.”

“You’re a blank idiot!” snarled the old man; but a strained, almost frightened look was stretched in queer lines on his yellow face.  He was thinking of Ena and of the newspapers.  He could hear the dogs yapping round his feet.

“Young Peter Rolls breaks away from home.  Earns his living with his own hands, not father’s Hands.  What he says about his principles”—­or some such rot as that would certainly appear in big, black headlines just when Ena and her magnificent marchese were searching the columns for gush over the forthcoming marriage.  It would spoil the girl’s pleasure in her wedding.

Old Peter was furious with young Peter, but began angrily to realize that the matter was indeed serious.  He desired to be violent, but fear of Ena dashed cold water on the fire of his rage.  Against his will and against his nature he began to temporize, meaning later to revenge his present humiliation upon his son.

“Who the devil has been upsetting you with lies about the Hands?” he spluttered.

“I’m afraid we must take for granted that what has ‘upset’ me isn’t lies.”  Peter let his sadness show in face and voice.  “I don’t wonder you’re surprised and perhaps angry at my coming to you and suddenly throwing out some sort of accusations, when year after year I’ve been receiving money from the Hands as meek as a lamb without a word or question.  I don’t defend myself for lack of interest in the past or for too much now.  Maybe I’m to blame both ways.  But please remember, Father, you said that unless I distrusted you, I was to stand aside.  After that I was so anxious to prove I trusted you all right, that I hurried to promise before I’d stopped to think.  Since then I’ve been made to think—­furiously to think—­and—–­”