“A man must be responsible to himself,” said Bonbright, fumbling to express what was troubling his soul.  “There are bigger things than family ...”

His father had advanced to the desk.  Now he interrupted by bringing his hand down upon it masterfully.  “For you there is no bigger thing than family.  You have a strange idea.  Where did you get it?  Is this sort of thing being taught in college to-day?  I suppose you have some notion of asserting your individuality.  Bosh!  Men in your position, born as you have been born, have no right to individuality.  Your individuality must express the individuality of your family as mine has done, and as my father’s and his father’s did before me ...  I insist that you explain fully to me what occurred last night.”

“I am sorry, sir, but I cannot.”

There was no outburst of passion from the father; it would have been wholly out of keeping with his character.  Bonbright Foote VI was a strong man in his way; he possessed force of character—­even if that force were merely a standardized, family-molded force of character.  He recognized a crisis in the affairs of the Foote family which must be met wisely.  He perceived that results could not be obtained through the violent impact of will; that here was a dangerous condition which must be cured—­but not by seizing it and wrenching it into place ...  Perhaps he could make Bonbright obey him, but if matters were as serious as they seemed, it would be far from wise.  The thing must be dealt with patiently, firmly.  Here was only a symptom; the disease went deeper.  For six generations one Bonbright Foote after another had been born true to tradition’s form—­the seventh generation had gone askew!  It must be set right, remolded.

“Let me point out to you,” said he, “that you are here only because you are my son and the descendant of our forefathers.  Aside from that you have no right to consideration or to position.  You possess wealth.  You are a personage ...  Suppose it were necessary to deprive you of these things.  Suppose, as I have the authority to do, I should send you out of this office to earn your own living.  Suppose, in short, I should find it necessary to do as other fathers have done—­ to disown you ...  What then?  What could you do?  What would your individuality be worth? ...  Think it over, my son.  In the meantime we will postpone this matter until you revise your mood.”

He turned abruptly and went into his own room.  He wanted to consider.  He did not know how to conduct himself, nor how to handle this distressing affair ...  He fancied he was acting wisely and diplomatically, but at the same time he carried away with him the unpleasant consciousness that victory lay for the moment with his son.  Individuality was briefly triumphant.  One thing was clear to him—­it should not remain so.  The Bonbright Foote tradition should be continued correctly by his son.  This was not so much a determination as a state of mind.  It was a thing of inevitability.