the veracity of my man of business? Two months ago, at
a certain little gathering, someone, whose name I have yet to discover,
informed you of certain bad habits I had contracted in games of chance. I
remember being interested at the time that my reputation lasted so well
in my absence. But I beg you--let me confirm the report still further. Am
I mistaken in believing you made some apt retort?"

"Sir," I said in a voice that sounded strangely discordant, "I told
him he lied."

"Ha!" said my father, and for a moment I thought he was going to commend
my act, but instead his eyes moved to the table.

"Brutus," he continued, "is my mind becoming cloudy, or is it true the
wine is running low? Open another bottle, Brutus."

There was a silence while he raised his glass to his lips.

"And am I right," he asked, "in recalling that you allowed yourself the
liberty--of punctuating that comment?"

"You have been well informed, sir," I answered. "I struck him in
the face."

He waved a hand to me in a pleasant gesture of acknowledgment, and half
turned in his chair, the better to speak over his shoulder.

"Did I hear aright, Brutus?" he inquired. "There's faith for you and
loyalty! He called the boy a liar who called me a cheat at cards! Ah,
those illusions of youth! Ah for that sweet mirage that used to glitter
in the sky overhead! It's only the wine that brings it back today--called
him a liar, Brutus, and gave him the blow!"

"But pardon," he went on. His voice was still grave and slow, though his
lips were bent in a bitter little smile. His face had reddened, and it
was the wine, I think, that made his eyes dance in the candle light.
"Overlook, I beg, the rudeness of my interruption. The exceptional in
your narrative quite intrigues me, my son. Doubtless your impulsive
action led to the conventional result?"

There he sat, amusedly examining me, smiling at my rising temper. My
reply shaped itself almost without my volition.

"Excuse me, sir," I retorted, "if I say the result was more natural than
your action upon a greater provocation."

"Had it ever occurred to you, my son, that perhaps my self-control was
greater also? Let us call it so, at any rate, and go on with our
adventure."

"As you will, sir," I said. "We all make our mistakes."

He raised his eyebrows in polite surprise, and his hand in a gesture
of protest.

"Our mistakes? Was I not right in believing you had a competent
instructor? I begin to fear