"
The old man's sallow face was slowly, darkly suffused with red.
"You're trying to bully me," he grunted. "But I'm not taking any
bluff."
"You misjudge me." Petro still kept his temper. "I'd be a disgusting
cad to try on such a game with you, and I don't think I am that. I'm
more thankful than I can tell you for all you've done for me. You've
had a hard life yourself, and you've secured me an easy one. You never
had time to see the world, but you let me see it because I longed
to--when I saw you had no use for me in the business. You let me give
money away and, thanks to your generosity, one or two schemes I had at
heart are in working order already. There's enough saved out of my
allowance for the last few years to see them through, if I never take
another cent from you. And I never will, from this day on, Father,
while you run the Hands on present lines."
"You're a blank idiot!" snarled the old man; but a strained, almost
frightened look was stretched in queer lines on his yellow face. He
was thinking of Ena and of the newspapers. He could hear the dogs
yapping round his feet.
"Young Peter Rolls breaks away from home. Earns his living with his
own hands, not father's Hands.
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