. You've turned back to a
little boy."

"No, I hasn't," said Tony, and his eyes met his father's unflinchingly.
"I's going to be a chief all ve time."

The argument seemed unanswerable. Anthony considered swiftly what to do.
He studied the grave brown eyes an instant in silence, their beauty and
the inflexibility in their depths appealing to him with equal force. He
loved the tough little will. He recognised it as his own--the same
powerful quality which had brought him thus far on the road to fortune
after being landed at the furthermost end from the goal. He would not for
worlds deal with his son's will in any but the way which should seem to
him wisest.

He rose from his seat. He spoke quietly but with force. "Very well," he
said. "If you're still a fire chief, of course you're too big to play. I'm
much obliged to you for putting out my fire. But now that it's out I don't
want your hook-and-ladder in my garden any longer. When your men take it
away I shall be glad. But of course we can't play any more till you stop
being a fire chief and the hook-and-ladder is back in its corner in the
nursery. Good-bye. When you are ready to be Tony Robeson again, you'll
find me in my den."

He smiled at his son and walked away. Tony watched him go. Tony's hands
were clasped behind his back, his legs planted wide apart.

Anthony, Senior, found it difficult to remain in the den. He was obliged
to keep track of a small figure in a blue blouse from whichever of the
various windows commanded the doings of that young person. He perceived
that the fire chief was still holding dominion over the scene.

At the end of an hour small footsteps were heard approaching. Anthony
looked up from the letter he was attempting to write. "Favver, may I have
a bread and butter?" asked a pleasant voice. Anthony turned about in his
chair.

"Is the hook-and-ladder in the nursery?" he inquired gravely.

Tony shook his head.

"Oh, then you are still the fire chief. Fire chiefs go to the hotel for
their bread and butter. I haven't any bread and butter for the fire
chief."

He turned back to his desk. The small figure in the doorway stood still a
moment, then the footsteps were heard retreating. Five minutes later,
Anthony, looking out, saw Tony careering about the garden on a
hobby-horse.

"Obstinate little duffer," he said affectionately to himself. "He's
playing go to the hotel, I suppose. Perhaps when that imagination of his
gets to work at h