aven cheeks, and
auburn hair hanging loosely down.

"You're wrong. Things aren't doing as well with me as they might. Belloc
and the others make difficult going. I've got too much to do myself. I
want help."

"You had it in Fabian," remarked Carnac dryly. "Well, I've lost it, and
it never was enough. He hadn't vision, sense and decision."

"And so you come to me, eh? I always thought you despised me," said
Carnac.

A half-tender, half-repellent expression came into the old man's face.
He spoke bluntly. "I always thought you had three times the brains
of your brother. You're not like me, and you're not like your mother;
there's something in you that means vision, and seeing things, and doing
them. If fifteen thousand dollars a year and a share in the business is
any good to you--"

For an instant there had been pleasure and wonder in the young man's
eyes, but at the sound of the money and the share in the business he
shrank back.

"I don't think so, father. I'm happy enough. I've got all I want."

"What the devil are you talking about!" the other burst out. "You've got
all you want! You've no home; you've no wife; you've no children; you've
no place. You paint, and you sculp, and what's the good of it all? Have
you ever thought of that? What's there in it for you or anyone else?
Have you no blood and bones, no sting of life in you? Look what I've
done. I started with little, and I've built up a business that, if it
goes all right, will be worth millions. I say, if it goes all right,
because I've got to carry more than I ought."

Carnac shook his head. "I couldn't be any help to you. I'm not a man
of action. I think, I devise, but I don't act. I'd be no good in your
business no, honestly, I'd be no good. I don't think money is the end
of life. I don't think success is compensation for all you've done and
still must do. I want to stand out of it. You've had your life; you've
lived it where you wanted to live it. I haven't, and I'm trying to find
out where my duty and my labour lies. It is Art; no doubt. I don't know
for sure."

"Good God!" broke in the old man. "You don't know for sure--you're
twenty-five years old, and you don't know where you're going!"

"Yes, I know where I'm going--to Heaven by and by!" This was his
satirical reply.

"Oh, fasten down; get hold of something that matters. Now, listen to me.
I want you to do one thing--the thing I ought to do and can't. I must
stay here now that Fabian's go