“Ha!  I thought so,” he declared.  “After your fifty-odd years in the lumber business your head has become packed with sawdust—­”

“Be serious and talk to me, Bryce.”

“I ought to send you to bed without your supper.  Talk to you?  You bet I’ll talk to you, John Cardigan; and I’ll tell you things, too, you scandalous bunko-steerer.  To-morrow morning I’m going to put a pair of overalls on you, arm you with a tin can and a swab, and set you to greasing the skidways.  Partner, you’ve deceived me.”

“Oh, nonsense.  If I had whimpered, that would only have spoiled everything.”

“Nevertheless, you were forced to cable me to hurry home.”

“I summoned you the instant I realized I was going to need you.”

“No, you didn’t, John Cardigan.  You summoned me because, for the first time in your life, you were panicky and let yourself get out of hand.”

His father nodded slowly.  “And you aren’t over it yet,” Bryee continued, his voice no longer bantering but lowered affectionately.  “What’s the trouble, Dad?  Trot out your old panic and let me inspect it.  Trouble must be very real when it gets my father on the run.”

“It is, Bryce, very real indeed.  As I remarked before, I’ve lost your heritage for you.”  He sighed.  “I waited till you would be able to come home and settle down to business; now you’re home, and there isn’t any business to settle down to.”

Bryce chuckled, for he was indeed far from being worried over business matters, his consideration now being entirely for his father’s peace of mind.  “All right,” he retorted, “Father has lost his money and we’ll have to let the servants go and give up the old home.  That part of it is settled; and weak, anemic, tenderly nurtured little Bryce Cardigan must put his turkey on his back and go into the woods looking for a job as lumberjack ...  Busted, eh?  Did I or did I not hear the six o’clock whistle blow at the mill?  Bet you a dollar I did.”

“Oh, I have title to everything—­yet.”

“How I do have to dig for good news!  Then it appears we still have a business; indeed, we may always have a business, for the very fact that it is going but not quite gone implies a doubt as to its ultimate departure, and perhaps we may yet scheme a way to retain it.”

“Oh, my boy, when I think of my years of toil and scheming, of the big dreams I dreamed—­”

“Belay all!  If we can save enough out of the wreck to insure you your customary home comforts, I shan’t cry, partner.  I have a profession to fall back on.  Yes, sirree.  I own a sheep-skin, and it says I’m an electrical and civil engineer.”

“What!”

“I said it.  An electrical and civil engineer.  Slipped one over on you at college, John Cardigan, when all the time you thought I was having a good time.  Thought I’d come home and surprise you.”

“Bu-bu-but—­”