“Never mind what he said,” Sanford replied, remembering the injunction laid upon him.  Then he looked about him.  “Gorham must have paid you a good deal more than you were worth,” he remarked significantly.

“He did,” admitted Allen, and then divining what was in his father’s mind; “but not enough for this.”

“You’ve run in debt, have you?” Allen noticed that the question did not contain the usual sting.  The old man would have rejoiced at this opportunity to express his sympathy in the only way he knew how.

“Not yet.  I sold my motor and some other things.”

“Had to live like a gentleman, whatever your salary, didn’t you?”

“I ought not to have done it,” the boy admitted.

“Nothing of the sort,” Sanford sputtered, again resorting to his favorite phrase.  “My son has to live like a gentleman,—­that’s what I educated him for.  Now help me off with my coat, and tell me all the damn fool things you’ve been doing.”

Their conference lasted well into the afternoon,—­an afternoon filled with surprises for them both.  For the first time Allen found his father an interested, sympathetic listener; for the first time Stephen Sanford came to know his son.  The boy made no effort to spare himself, though eager for his father to realize that he had been earnest and industrious, albeit the net results of this had been but failure.  Mr. Gorham had done so much for him, and he had tried to assimilate the lessons both from his deeds and from his words; but instead he had seen chimeras breathing fire at every turn, and had charged them quixote-like to find them but windmills, harmful only to himself.  He enlarged upon the personal characteristics of the directors and the other business men with whom he came in contact,—­many of them well known to his listener,—­and Sanford marvelled at the accuracy of the boy’s insight, and the integrity of the portraits.  Gorham was right,—­Allen had developed, and far beyond what he himself realized.  He was now a man to be reckoned with rather than a boy to be disciplined.

The old man’s keen business sense also for the first time grasped the tremendous scope of Gorham’s gigantic project.  There was no room left to doubt the strength of the appeal of the absolute honesty of purpose after listening to Allen’s unconsciously irresistible testimony.  In words made pregnant by the simplicity of their utterance, he described Gorham the man and Gorham the Colossus of the business world; he pictured the waves of avarice and intrigue and discontent which he thought he saw beating against the feet of this towering figure, unheeded and unrecognized because so far beneath it; he told of his own puny efforts to warn this giant of the storm which he thought he saw approaching, but in doing this he had betrayed his own ignorance, and had prepared the pit into which he himself had fallen.

“And the worst of it all is,” Allen concluded, “that I can’t see even now where I was wrong; but if Mr. Gorham told me that Napoleon Bonaparte discovered America I would know that, all previous statements to the contrary, he was right.”