“And you dared tell your uncle that, you young firebrand?”

“Yes, Mr. Grayson, I had to; what else could I say?  Don’t you think it cruel to cheat like that?”

“And what did he say?” asked Peter.

“He would not listen—­he swore at me—­told me—­well, he ordered me out of the room and had the lights put out.”

“And it served you right, you young dog!  Well, upon my word!  Here you are without a dollar in the world except what your uncle pays you, and you fly off at a tangent and insult him in his own house —­and you his guest, remember.  Well!  Well!  What are we coming to?  Felicia, did you ever hear of such a performance?”

Miss Felicia made no answer.  She knew from her brother’s tone that there was not a drop of bitterness in any one of the words that fell from his lips; she had heard him talk that way dozens of times before, when he was casting about for some means of letting the culprit down the easier.  She even detected a slight wrinkling of the corners of his mouth as the denunciation rolled out.

Not so Jack:  To him the end of the world had come.  Peter was his last resort—­that one so good and so clear-headed had not flared up at once over the villainy was the severest blow of all.  Perhaps he was a firebrand; perhaps, after all, it was none of his business; perhaps—­perhaps—­now that Ruth would not blame him, knew nothing, in fact, of the disgraceful episode, it would have been better for him to have ignored the whole matter and taken Garry’s advice.

“Then I have done wrong again, Mr. Grayson?” he said at last, in so pleading a tone that even Miss Felicia’s reserve was on the point of giving away.

“Yes, in the manner in which you acted.  Your father wouldn’t have lost his temper and called people names.  Gentlemen, my dear boy, don’t do that sort of thing.  They make up their minds about what they want to do and then do it quietly, and, let me say, with a certain amount of courtesy.”

“Then, what must I do?” All the fight was out of the lad now.

“Why, go back to your desk in the office and your very delightful suite of rooms at your uncle’s.  Tell him you are sorry you let your feelings get the best of you; then, when you have entirely quieted down, you and I will put our heads together and see what can be done to improve matters.  And that, let me tell you, my dear boy, is going to be rather a difficult thing, for you see you are rather particular as to what you should and should not do to earn your living.”  Peter’s wrinkles had now crept up his cheeks and were playing hide and seek with the twinkles in his eyes.  “Of course any kind of healthy work—­such, for instance, as hauling a chain through a swamp, carrying a level, prospecting for oil, or copper, or gold—­all very respectable occupations for some men—­ are quite impossible in your case.  But we will think it out and find something easier—­something that won’t soil your hands, and—­”