ther. He had not re-married, but this was the
only outward evidence by which any one could know that the memory of
"his Annie" was as green as the day she died. He never spoke of her nor
of his son, and Burt's life seemed to have for its aim the piling up of
dollars faster than his neighbors.

Helen grasped something of his character in her swift appraisement. As
she returned his impersonal gaze she realized that to him she was simply
a female--a person in petticoats who was going to take up his time and
bore him until he could get rid of her. She was not accustomed to a
reception of this kind; it disconcerted her, but chiefly the magnitude
of her task loomed before her.

The sudden, unexpected fear of failure threw her into a panic. The
feeling which came upon her was like stage-fright. In the first awkward
moment she could scarcely remember why she had come, much less what she
had intended to say. But he was too indifferent to notice her confusion
and this helped her somewhat to recover her presence of mind.

When she mentioned the distance she had travelled to see him he was
entirely unimpressed and it was not until she mentioned Bruce's name
that he appeared to realize that she was not an agent trying to sell him
a book. Then Helen saw in his eyes his mental start;--the look of
resignation vanished and his black brows, so like Bruce's, contracted in
a frown.

"He's alive then," Burt's voice was hard.

Helen nodded.

"I've come to see you on his behalf."

"Oh, he's in trouble." His voice had an acid edge. "He wants me to help
him out."

"In trouble--yes--but I'm not sure he'd forgive me if he knew I had
come."

"Still sore, is he?" His features stiffened.

"Not sore," Helen pleaded, "but--proud."

"Stubborn"--curtly--"mulish. But why should you come to me?"

"Why shouldn't I? You're his father and he needs a helping hand just now
more perhaps than he ever will again."

"Being his father is no reason, that I can see. He's never written me a
line."

"And you've never tried to find him," Helen retorted.

"He had a good home and he ran away. He was fourteen--old enough to know
what he was doing."

"Fourteen!" repeated Helen scornfully throwing diplomacy to the winds at
his criticism of Bruce, "Fourteen!--and you judged him as though he
were a man of your own age and experience!"

"I made $20 a month and my board when I was fourteen."

"That doesn't prove anything except a difference in ambition. Y