Witherspoon began to grunt.  “It’s all right,” said he.  “It’s all right.”  He had to say something.  “Come, I must get down town.”

“Shall I go with you?” Henry asked.

For a moment Witherspoon was silent.  “Not unless you want to,” he answered.

They sat down to breakfast.  Henry nervously expected another outbreak.  The merchant began to say something, but stopped on a half utterance and cleared his throat.  “It is coming,” Henry thought.

“I have studied over our talk of last night,” said Witherspoon, “and while I won’t say that you may be right, or have any excuse for presuming that you are right, I am inclined to indulge that wild scheme of yours for a while.  My impression is that you’ll soon get sick of it.”

Mrs. Witherspoon looked at him thankfully.  “And you will give him a chance, father,” she said.

“Didn’t I say I would?  Isn’t that exactly what I said?  Gracious alive, don’t make me out a grinding and unyielding monster.  We’ll look round, Henry, and see what can be done.  Brooks may know of some opening.  You’d better rest here to-day.”

“I am deeply grateful, sir, for the concession you have made,” Henry replied.  “I know how you feel on the subject, and I regret”—­

“All right.”

“Regret that I was forced”—­

“I said it was all right.”

“Forced to oppose you, but I don’t think that you’ll have cause to feel ashamed of me.”

“You have already made me feel proud of your manliness,” said Witherspoon.

Henry bowed, and Mrs. Witherspoon gave her husband an impulsive look of gratitude.  The merchant continued: 

“You have refused my offer, but you have not presumed upon your own position.  Sincerity expects a reward, as a rule, and when a man is sincere at his own expense, there is something about him to admire.  You don’t prefer to live idly—­to draw on me—­and I should want no stronger proof that you are, indeed, my son.  It is stronger than the gold chain you brought home with you, for that might have been found; but manly traits are not to be picked up; they come of inheritance.  Well, I must go.  I will speak to Brooks and see if anything can be done.”

Rain began to fall.  How full of restful meditation was this dripping-time, how brooding with half-formed, languorous thoughts that begin as an idea and end as a reverie.  Sometimes a soothing spirit which the sun could not evoke from its boundless fields of light comes out of the dark bosom of a cloud.  A bright day promises so much, so builds our hopes, that our keenest disappointments seem to come on a radiant morning, but on a dismal day, when nothing has been promised, a straggling pleasure is accidentally found and is pressed the closer to the senses because it was so unexpected.