f men.
Multitudes of kings had not been so parented. Outwardly a successful
business man and a fanatical Dissenter--there were thousands like Silas
Finn. But Paul knew his inner greatness, the terrific struggle of his
soul, the warrings between fierce blood and iron will, the fervent
purpose, the lofty aspirations and the unwavering conduct of his life
of charity and sorrow. He stretched out his hand and with his finger
tips lightly touched the dead man's forehead. "I'm proud to be your
son," he murmured.

Then the nurse came in and Paul went downstairs. Barney Bill waylaid
him in the hall, and led him into the dining-room. "Have a little food
and drink, sonny. You look as if yer need it--especially drink. 'Ere."
He seized a decanter of whisky--since Paul's first visit, Silas had
always kept it in the house for his son's, comforting--and would have
filled the tumbler had not Paul restrained him. He squirted in the
soda. "Drink it down and you'll feel better."

Paul swallowed a great gulp. "Yes," he agreed. "There are times when it
does help a man."

"Liquor is like a dawg," said Bill. "Keep it in subjection, so to
speak, and it's yer faithful friend."

"Where's Jane?" Paul asked.

"She's busy. Half the borough seem to be calling, or telephoning"--and
even at that moment Paul could hear the maid tripping across the hall
and opening the front door--"I've told her what occurred. She seemed
half skeered. She's had a dreadful day, pore gal."

"She has indeed," said Paul.

He threw himself into a chair, dead beat, at the end of emotional
strain, and remained talking with the old man of he scarce knew what.
But these two--Jane and the old man--were linked to him by imperishable
ties, and he could not leave them yet awhile in the house of death.
Barney Bill stirred the fire, which blazed up, making the perky animals
on the hearth cast faint and fantastic shadows.

"It's funny how he loved those darned little beasts, isn't it now? I
remember of him telling me as how they transported him into magic
something--or the other--medi--he had a word for it--I dunno--"

"Mediaeval?"

"That's it, sonny. Mediaeval forests. It means back of old times, don't
it? King Arthur and his Round Table--I done a bit of reading, yer
know." The old man took out pouch and pipe. "That's what drew us
together, sonny, our taste for literature. Remember?"

"Can I ever forget?" said Paul.

"Well, he was like that too. He had lots of po'try in