"
"Belloc! Belloc! Who told you that?" asked the young man.
"Junia Shale--she told me."
Carnac laughed. "She knows a lot, but how did she know that?"
"Sheer instinct, and I believe she's right."
"Right--right--to fight you, his own father!" was the inflammable reply.
"Why, that would be a lowdown business!"
"Would it be lower down than your not helping your father, when you can?"
Somehow he yearned over his wayward, fantastic son. The wilful, splendid
character of the youth overcame the insistence in the other's nature.
"You seem to be getting on all right," remarked Carnac with the faint
brown moustache, the fine, showy teeth, the clean-shaven cheeks, and
auburn hair hanging loosely down.
"You're wrong. Things aren't doing as well with me as they might. Belloc
and the others make difficult going. I've got too much to do myself. I
want help."
"You had it in Fabian," remarked Carnac dryly. "Well, I've lost it, and
it never was enough. He hadn't vision, sense and decision."
"And so you come to me, eh? I always thought you despised me," said
Carnac.
A half-tender, half-repellent expression came into the old man's face. He
spoke bluntly. "I always thought you had three times the brains of your
brother.
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