ain Anglo-Saxon as he was, with all that implies as to the
avoidance of displays of emotion, nevertheless he had been for a
long time in lands far from home, where the habits of impulsive and
affectionate peoples were radically unlike our own austerer forms. So
now, under the spur of an impulse suggested by the dalliance with the
buxom secretary, he grinned widely and went to his father.

"A little kiss never hurts any one," he declared, blithely. Then he
added vivaciously: "Here, I'll show you!"

With the words, he clasped his arms around his father's neck, and,
before that amazed gentleman could understand his purpose, he had kissed
soundly first the one cheek and then the other, each with a hearty,
wholesome smack of filial piety. This done, he stood back, still beaming
happily, while the astounded Sarah tittered bewilderedly. For his own
part, Dick was quite unashamed. He loved his father. For once, he had
expressed that fondness in a primitive fashion, and he was glad.

The older man withdrew a step, and there rested motionless, under the
sway of an emotion akin to dismay. He stood staring intently at his son
with a perplexity in his expression that was almost ludicrous. When, at
last, he spoke, his voice was a rumble of strangely shy pleasure.

"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, violently. Then he raised a hand, and
rubbed first one cheek, and after it its fellow, with a gentleness that
was significant. The feeling provoked by the embrace showed plainly in
his next words. "Why, that's the first time you have kissed me, Dick,
since you were a little boy. God bless my soul!" he repeated. And now
there was a note of jubilation.

The son, somewhat disturbed by this emotion he had aroused, nevertheless
answered frankly with the expression of his own feeling, as he advanced
and laid a hand on his father's shoulder.

"The fact is, Dad," he said quietly, with a smile that was good to see,
"I am awfully glad to see you again."

"Are you, son?" the father cried happily. Then, abruptly his manner
changed, for he felt himself perilously close to the maudlin in this new
yielding to sentimentality. Such kisses of tenderness, however agreeable
in themselves, were hardly fitting to one of his dignity. "You clear out
of here, boy," he commanded, brusquely. "I'm a working man. But here,
wait a minute," he added. He brought forth from a pocket a neat sheaf of
banknotes, which he held out. "There's carfare for you," he said wit