I preceded him up the stoop and into the hall of the old house on lower Fifth Avenue, near Tenth Street, that had been the home of our grandfather and our father before us.  There, in the dim light, I halted and turned, while Evans approached from the inner rooms, rubbing eyes heavy with sleep.

Good old Evans!  Yet the faithfulness of such a servant has its disadvantages.

“Well?” said Harry in a thin, high voice.

The boy’s nerves were stretched tightly; two words from me would have produced an explosion.  So I clapped him on the shoulder and sent him off to bed.  He went sulkily, without looking round, and his shoulders drooped like those of an old man; but I reflected that that would all be changed after a few hours of sleep.

“After all, he is a Lamar,” I said to myself as I ordered Evans to bring wine and sandwiches to the library.

It was the middle of the following afternoon before Harry appeared down-stairs.  He had slept eleven hours.  I was seated in the library when I heard his voice in the hall: 

“Breakfast!  Breakfast for five at once!”

I smiled.  That was Harry’s style of wit.

After he had eaten his “breakfast for five” he came in to see me with the air of a man who was determined to have it out.

I myself was in no mood for talk; indeed, I scarcely ever am in such a mood, unless it be with a pretty woman or a great sinner.  You may regard that sentence as tautological if you like; I sha’n’t quarrel about it.

What I mean to say is that it was with a real effort I set myself to the distasteful task before me, rendered necessary by the responsibility of my position as elder brother and head of the family.

Harry began by observing with assumed indifference:  “Well, and now there’s the deuce to pay, I suppose.”

“As his representative I am not a hard creditor,” I smiled.

“I know, I know—­” he began impetuously and stopped.

I continued: 

“My boy, there is always the deuce to pay.  If not for one thing, then for another.  So your observation would serve for any other time as well as now.  The point is this:  you are ten years younger than I, and you are under my care; and much as I dislike to talk, we must reach an understanding.”

“Well?” said Harry, lighting a cigarette and seating himself on the arm of a chair.

“You have often thought,” I continued, “that I have been trying to interfere with your freedom.  But you are mistaken; I have merely been trying to preserve it—­and I have succeeded.”

“When our father and mother died you were fifteen years of age.  You are now twenty-two; and I take some credit for the fact that those seven years have left no stain, however slight, on the name of Lamar.”

“Do I deserve that?” cried Harry.  “What have I done?”

“Nothing irremediable, but you must admit that now and then I have been at no small pains to—­er—­assist you.  But there, I don’t intend to speak of the past; and to tell the truth, I suspect that we are of one mind.  You regard me as more or less of an encumbrance; you think your movements are hampered; you consider yourself to be treated as a child unjustly.