“We’ll walk, then.”

So the two men went down town on foot, and Jove galloped back and forth joyously.  At any and all times he was happy with his master.  The one bane of his existence was gone, the cat.  He was monarch of the house; he could sleep on sofa-pillows and roll on the rugs, and nobody stole his bones.

“Good dog,” observed John.

“Money couldn’t buy him.  I saw that fellow Bolles to-day,” tentatively.

“Bolles?” John did not recollect the name.

“The fellow you nearly throttled the other night,” explained Warrington.  “He looked pretty well battered up.  I never saw you lose your temper so quickly before.”

“He struck me without provocation, at the wrong moment.  Who is going to speak to-night?”

“Donnelly and Rudolph.”

“What do you think?  Donnelly called me up by ’phone this afternoon.  Wants to know if I really intend to tear down the shops.  I told him I had nothing to say on the subject.”

“Tear them down.  I should.  You’re a rich man.”

“Money isn’t the question.  The thing is, what shall I do?  I’m not fitted for anything else.”

“Tear down the shops and then build them up again, after a few years.  It will be a good lesson to these union leaders.  And you could have the fun of fighting to build up the trade your father left.  You were talking once of rebuilding entirely.”

“Not a bad idea, Dick.  Only, I feel sorry for the men.”

“Why?  Are they free men or are they not?  It rested with them just as much as it did with you.  I am far removed from the principles of unionism, as they stand to-day.  I have no patience or sympathy with men who can not, or will not, appreciate a liberal, honest employer.”

“Let’s change the subject, Dick.”

For a block or so they proceeded in silence.

“John, you’re the head of the family.  I love Patty better than anything else on God’s earth.  Do you mind?” Warrington uttered these words swiftly, before his courage, which he had suddenly urged to its highest, dropped back.

John swung round abruptly and brought his hands down heavily on Warrington’s shoulders.

“Is that true, Dick?”

“As I stand here.  Oh, I know; I’m not good enough for Patty.  I haven’t lived as decently as I might.  I haven’t gone through life as circumspectly as you have.  I drank; success made me dizzy.  But I love Patty—­God bless her!—­as I never hoped or dreamed of loving any woman.  You’re a man, John; you will understand.  I’ve been alone all my life; buffeted here and there, living haphazard, without any particular restraint on my desires.  The dear old aunt was the only tie, and that was delicate till I came home and found how good and kind she was.  I miss her; months from now I shall miss her a hundredfold.  I’m very lonely.  You’ve all been so good to me.  To be alone, and to think of living alone for the rest of my days, is a torture.  My nature craves companionship, and this craving has led me into plenty of mischief.  I love Patty.  What do you say, John?”