pump.

"I'm thinking now," he said, softly, "it's sort of queer a man's father
and mother believe there's any girl in the world too good for their
son."

"Lots of them," his father snapped. "Sylvia Planter most of all."

"Oh, yes," his mother agreed.

He straightened.

"Then listen," he said, peremptorily. "I don't think so. I told her I
was going to have her, and I will. Just put that down in your books.
I'll show the lot of you that I'm as good as she is, as good as
anybody."

The late sun illuminated the purpose in his striking face.

"Impertinent servant!" he cried. "Stable boy! Beast! It's pretty rough
to make her marry all that. It's my only business from now on."

V

He went to his room, leaving his parents aghast. With a nervous hurry he
rid himself of his riding breeches, his puttees, his stock.

"That," he told himself, "is the last time I shall ever wear anything
like livery."

When he had dressed in one of his two suits of ordinary clothing he took
the broken riding crop and for a long time stared at it as though the
venomous souvenir could fix his resolution more firmly. Once his hand
slipped to the stock where Sylvia's fingers had so frequently tightened.
He snatched his hand away. It was too much like an unfair advantage, a
stolen caress.

"Georgie! Georgie!"

His mother's voice drifted to him tentatively.

"Come and get your supper."

He hid the broken crop and went out. His father glanced disapproval.

"You'd do better to wear Old Planter's clothes while you can. It's
doubtful when you'll buy any more of your own."

George sat down without answering. Since his return from the ride that
afternoon his parents and he had scarcely spoken the same language, and
by this time he understood there was no possible interpreter. It made
him choke a little over his food.

The others were content to share his silence. His father seemed only
anxious to have him away; but his mother, he fancied, looked at him with
something like sorrow.

Afterward he fled from that nearly voiceless scrutiny and paced one of
the park paths, counting the minutes until he could answer Old Planter's
summons. He desired to have the interview over so that he could snap
every chain binding him to Oakmont, every chain save the single one
Sylvia's contempt had unwittingly forged. He could not, moreover, plan
his immediate future with any assurance until he knew what the great man
wanted.

"Only to make me feel a li