With pain he lifted his reeking, tousled head and stared.

‘Oh, hello. It’s Dad, ain’t it? I know! You came back from Europe!’ His drivelling triumph at this recognition he interrupted with the surly demand: ‘Where’s Cal?’

‘He’s gone out.’

Howard wept with self-pity. ‘You get him back, ri’ ‘way. Cal’s best of the wholy cranky lot. Only one that never asks me to do anything don’t want to. Family always after me to hustle an’ do something. Howard — wash your fool neck! Howard — don’t ever stop on the street and be nice to folks, because you got to be in the repair shop at eight sharp! Howard — curse you, now appreciate this highbrow music I’m playing! Howard — quit laughing and get busy and make a million dollars, even if you don’t want a million dollars! Howard — don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t play poker, don’t kiss that hat-check girl, don’t skip dumb classes, don’t drive over thirty miles an hour, don’t ever laugh! . . . Cal’s the only one lets me be a roustabout, which what — what — that’s what naturally am! Only one lets me be!’

He closed his eyes, exhausted by his oration.

Fred stood by him, unspeaking. With a shock he realized that there was much to what the boy had said.

Howard reared up, looking ugly, and scolding, ‘You send Cal in now! I don’t want to talk to you. I won’t talk to you till Cal comes in . . . Cal! Oh, Cal! Hey! Come on in here!’

‘Howard, for a start, I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to doing without Cal. I’ve chased him out of here — for keeps.’

‘You did? Well, blast and damn you, then! And you can chase yourself out, too. Get out and stay out!’

Feverishly Howard had bundled himself out of bed. He loomed far above his father. He swayed, but his eyes — not his eyes, but the eyes of the evil leering thing within him — were murderous. He reached back, stooping a little, and fumbled for the whisky bottle on the pillow. As he shakily raised it, Fred hit him, clean and hard, on the point of the chin.

Howard tumbled on the bed, threshed, tried to rise again, whimpered like a little hurt dog and passed out.

Fred drew up a chair and sat watching him, too profoundly troubled to think anything tangible. Presently he rose, creakingly, and began to bustle.

In the bathroom there wasn’t a clean towel. Fred rinsed out a soiled one and carefully wiped Howard’s sweating forehead, the back of his neck, his wrists.

Howard slept on.

Fred began on the kitchen. Swiftly, not very competently, he scraped the dirty dishes into the garbage pail, washed them, put them away. Meantime he had telephoned to a laundry, to a clothes presser, and when the runners came, he gave out all of Howard’s garments that he could round up, for cleaning by special twelve-hour service.