"Not a syllable!" answered the carpenter, angrily. “So long as I am your father, so long as your life is entrusted to my care, I feel bound by every obligation to use my authority to check this odd disposition of yours toward extravagant enterprises. Every rule is against me—Why did I let you begin this? I might have told—” “I don’t see that you could help—” “I might have helped—” “You couldn’t. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Anna sprang to her feet with a startled cry. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. Don’t leave me in this beastly thing. Good-bye, Anna!” Annabel sprang up. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. The next few hours will tell. He followed.
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