“In other words, when it comes to morals, you want to shirk.”

French flushed quickly, but controlled himself.

“Excuse me, Brown,” he said, in a quiet tone.  “I came to talk this over with you as a friend, but if you do not want to—­”

“Old man, I apologize for the tone I used just now, but I foresee that this is going to be serious.  I can see as clearly as light what I ought to say to you now.  There is something in my heart that I have been wanting to say for months, but I hate to say it, and I won’t say it now unless you tell me to.”

The two men were standing face to face as if measuring each other’s strength.

“Go on,” said French at length; “what are you afraid of?” His tone was unfortunate.

“Afraid,” said Brown quickly, “not of you, but of myself.”  He paused a few moments, as if taking counsel with himself, then, with a sudden resolve, he spoke in tones quiet, deliberate, and almost stern.  “First, be clear about this,” he said; “I stand ready to help you with Kalman to the limit of my power, and to assure you to the full my share of responsibility for his moral training.  Now then, what of your part in this?”

“Why, I—­”

“But wait, hear me out.  For good or for evil, you have that boy’s life in your hands.  Did you ever notice how he rides,—­his style, I mean?  It is yours.  How he walks?  Like you.  His very tricks of speech are yours.  And how else could it be?  He adores you, you know that.  He models himself after you.  And so, mark me, without either of you knowing it, you will make him in spite of yourself and in spite of him.  And it is your fate to make him after your own type.  Wait, French, let me finish.”  Brown’s easy good nature was gone, his face was set and stern.  “You ask me to teach him morals.  The fact is, we are both teaching him.  From whom, do you think, will he take his lesson?  What a ghastly farce the thing is!  Listen, while the teaching goes on.  ‘Kalman,’ I say, ’don’t drink whiskey; it is a beastly and degrading habit.’  ‘Fudge!’ he says, ’Jack drinks whiskey, and so will I.’  ‘Kalman,’ I urge, ‘don’t swear.’  ‘Rot,’ says he, ‘Jack swears.’  ’Kalman, be a man, straight, self-controlled, honourable, unselfish.’  The answer is,—­but no! the answer never will be,—­’Jack is a drunken, swearing, selfish, reckless man!’ No, for he loves you.  But like you he will be, in spite of all I can say or do.  That is your curse for the life you are leading.  Responsibility?  God help you.  Read your letter again.  That woman sees clearly.  It is God’s truth.  Listen, ’The responsibility for what you make him you must take.  God puts it there, not I.’  You may refuse this responsibility, you may be too weak, too wilful, too selfish to set upon your own wicked indulgence of a foolish appetite, but the responsibility is there, and no living man or woman can take it from you.”

French stood silent for some moments.  “Thank you,” he said, “you have set my sins before me, and I will not try to hide them; but by the Eternal, not for you or for any man, will I be anything but myself.”