algebra and physics and chemistry and history and all that junk? I
guess I'll go into business."

"What business?"

"I don't know. I've been working around the garage. I can get a job
there if I want it."

"Did you ask papa?"

"What's the use? He'll let me do what I please. I guess I'll start in
to-morrow."

* * * * *

His father did not interfere when his only son came slouching up to
inform him of his decision.

After Jack had gone away toward the village and his new business, his
father remained seated on the shabby veranda, his head sunken on his
soiled shirtfront, his wasted hands clasped over his stomach.

For a little while, perhaps, he remembered his earlier ambitions for
the boy's career. Maybe they caused him pain. But if there was pain it
faded gradually into the lethargy which had settled over him since his
wife's death.

A grey veil seemed to have descended between him and the sun,--there
was greyness everywhere, and dimness, and uncertainty--in his mind, in
his eyesight--and sometimes the vagueness was in his speech. He had
noticed that--for, sometimes the word he meant to use was not the word
he uttered. It had occurred a number of times, making foolish what he
had said.

And Ledlie had glanced at him sharply once or twice out of his sore
and faded eyes when Greensleeve had used some word while thinking of
another.

When he was not wandering around the house he sat on the veranda in a
great splint-bottomed arm-chair--a little untidy figure, more or less
caved in from chest to abdomen, which made his short thin legs hanging
just above the floor seem stunted and withered.

To him, here, came his daughters in their soiled and rusty black
dresses, just out of school, and always stopping on impulse of
sympathy to salute him with, "Hello, papa!" and with the touch of
fresh, warm lips on his colourless cheek.

Sometimes they lingered to chatter around him, or bring out pie and
cake to eat in his company. But very soon his gaze became remote, and
the children understood that they were at liberty to go, which they
did, dancing happily away into the outer sunshine, on pleasure
bent--the matchless pleasures of the very young whose poverty has not
as yet disturbed them.

As the summer passed the sunlight grew greyer to Peter Greensleeve.
Also, more often, he mixed his words and made nonsense of what he
said.

The pain in his chest and arms which for a year had caus