The son did not reflect that of the dry rot in old Tom’s soul this deception was a typical symptom.  He knew that in the old days Tom Burton’s word had been a synonym for inflexible honesty; that it was as good as collateral at the bank.

Then, sitting at ease, the well-groomed old gentleman held his glass before him and gazed at the colors which the firelight wakened in its amber contents.  His face wore the contentment of one whose mood has been artificially mellowed and whose thoughts are more glowing than reliable.  He cleared his throat and began to speak importantly.

“My boy, a great idea has come to me—­a splendid conception, I may say.  I have for all these years been of very little service to you, but I now see the way to make amends ... to, as I might say, become an asset rather than a liability—­a sharer in your activities.”

Hamilton Burton was standing by the table, studying the face of his father, and at the words his eyes darkened.  His question was by no means freighted with pleasure or expectancy as he coolly inquired, “Indeed?”

Tom Burton nodded with much gravity.

“Yes.  The other day you were relating to me some matters of business which were quite—­er—­interesting.  I have since given them mature thought and I find that I have evolved a method by which you may, with my suggestions, even improve on your original plan of procedure.”

“Stop!” The son wheeled and faced the elder man with a face grown suddenly wrathful.  As Tom Burton looked up in surprise, Hamilton went on rapidly and dictatorially.  “I never quarrel with my family.  It is my pleasure to regard them first in all things, but one thing I will not permit even from them.  It is the first time it has ever become necessary to say this to you, sir.  I hope it will be the last.”

“Why, what’s the matter, my son?  I was only about to suggest that—­”

“Well, don’t do it.  The one thing I will not permit is business interference.  I need no collaborator.  Once—­just once Paul made that same mistake.  He presumed to offer a suggestion, Paul—­who couldn’t figure compound interest—­offered me, Hamilton Burton, a financial suggestion!  I told him then as I tell you now that any human hand which sticks itself into my affairs will be promptly broken off at the wrist—­no matter whose hand it is.  That is the one possible thing that could drive me to unkindness to any one of my own blood.  In that I am unshakable.  I will have no interference. I am the one financier in this family, and I will submit to no trespassing upon my own field of empire.  Let’s have that plainly understood.”

He ended, and Tom Burton gazed dumbfounded at the anger which was slowly dying out of his son’s pupils and which had rung through his son’s words.

“You astonish me,” he said slowly.  “I had no idea of trespass—­only of assistance.”