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they’ve never been unkind. That’s something, more than you may think, until you’ve lived much longer.”
    All the while his father was speaking, Tommy’s mind moved on. He seemed to be back on the road again and there were rumbling wheels and slapping hoofs.
    â€œLord help me!” his father was laughing softly. “I never thought I’d be a sanctimonious prig. It’s your fault, Tom. It’s the way all fathers are. But there’s another thing I’ve noticed doesn’t tarnish, just one more and the sermon will be over.”
    Just then there was a knock on the door. It was opened before the knock was finished by a flushed and genial gentleman in a blue serge suit. Tommy knew who he was, because he had been often lately at their house. It was Mr. Cooper, the president of the bank downstairs.
    â€œExcuse me, Alfred,” said Mr. Cooper, “I didn’t know you had a business caller.”
    Alfred Michael rose from his swivel chair. As he stood before Mr. Cooper he seemed to Tommy as different from Mr. Cooper as—as what? Tommy never exactly knew.
    â€œYou’re sure I’m not interrupting?” Mr. Cooper said again.
    â€œI was preaching,” said Alfred Michael, “but it can wait.”
    For some reason, Mr. Cooper thought this was very funny. “Preaching!” he cried. “Don’t you believe a word he says, Tommy. You ask him about the scrapes his daddy used to pull him out of, and I’ll bet he wishes he had a daddy still.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, Joe!” Tommy’s father shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t we avoid the ant and the grasshopper motif? Do you want to see me about something, or what is it?”
    Mr. Cooper did not seem as pleasant as before. “There’s a telegram, Alf,” he said. “It came early, and they left it at the bank. When they told me you’d come in, I thought I’d bring it myself.”
    Alfred Michael took the envelope without opening it.
    â€œVery kind of you, Joe!” he said. “Especially when it would have been so easy to send some one else.”
    â€œOh, it’s no trouble, Alf,” said Cooper. “I’ve always liked to do little things, always have.”
    â€œGet to the point, Joe,” said Tommy’s father suddenly, “and say you came to see what’s in the telegram.”
    Of course it was all grown-up talk which Tommy could only understand in snatches. Yet he could feel that something was happening. His father was holding the envelope, turning it softly, but Mr. Cooper’s fingers moved in curious jerks.
    â€œConsidering everything,” Mr. Cooper’s voice had grown thick, “you’ve got a nerve to speak to me like that. You may be smarter than I am, but what good has it done you, I want to know? Gad, if you’d only had to work when you were young, you might be something now instead of—of—”
    â€œInstead of what?” said Alfred Michael.
    â€œInstead of a common gambler, if you want to know.”
    Alfred Michael took a penknife from his pocket and slit open the envelope in his hand.
    â€œAll right,” he said, “it doesn’t make me angry. I’m under no illusions about myself, under none at all.”
    Alfred Michael pulled the telegram delicately from the envelope, stepped closer to the window and leaned his elbow on the dark top of the desk. Tommy always remembered one thing. His father read the telegram carefully and folded it again. Then he looked out of the window for a moment at the elms across the street. Then he handed the telegram to Mr. Cooper just as though it was an amusing letter.
    â€œWinter’s come,” said Alfred Michael. “The grasshopper has finished dancing. Look it over, Joe. The whole list has dropped twenty points, and they sell me out to-morrow.”
    Mr. Cooper stared for a second, first at Tommy’s father, and then at