, is a word of four letters and a definition which you have
extracted from the dictionary. But love, real love, dewy and palpitant
and tender, you do not know. If God made you and me, and men and women,
believe me He made love, too. But to come back. It's about time you
quit hounding Joe Garland. It is not worthy of you, and it is cowardly.
The thing for you to do is to reach out and lend him a hand."

"Why I, any more than you?" the other demanded. "Why don't you reach him
a hand?"

"I have. I'm reaching him a hand now. I'm trying to get you not to down
the Promotion Committee's proposition of sending him away. I got him the
job at Hilo with Mason and Fitch. I've got him half a dozen jobs, out of
every one of which you drove him. But never mind that. Don't forget one
thing--and a little frankness won't hurt you--it is not fair play to
saddle another fault on Joe Garland; and you know that you, least of all,
are the man to do it. Why, man, it's not good taste. It's positively
indecent."

"Now I don't follow you," Percival Ford answered. "You're up in the air
with some obscure scientific theory of heredity and personal
irresponsibility. But how any theory can hold Joe Garland irresponsible
for his wrongdoings and at the same time hold me personally responsible
for them--more responsible than any one else, including Joe Garland--is
beyond me."

"It's a matter of delicacy, I suppose, or of taste, that prevents you
from following me," Dr. Kennedy snapped out. "It's all very well, for
the sake of society, tacitly to ignore some things, but you do more than
tacitly ignore."

"What is it, pray, that I tacitly ignore!"

Dr. Kennedy was angry. A deeper red than that of constitutional Scotch
and soda suffused his face, as he answered:

"Your father's son."

"Now just what do you mean?"

"Damn it, man, you can't ask me to be plainer spoken than that. But if
you will, all right--Isaac Ford's son--Joe Garland--your brother."

Percival Ford sat quietly, an annoyed and shocked expression on his face.
Kennedy looked at him curiously, then, as the slow minutes dragged by,
became embarrassed and frightened.

"My God!" he cried finally, "you don't mean to tell me that you didn't
know!"

As in answer, Percival Ford's cheeks turned slowly grey.

"It's a ghastly joke," he said; "a ghastly joke."

The doctor had got himself in hand.

"Everybody knows it," he said. "I thought you knew it. And since you