"Let's try that slate business again," he said at last. But to this his mother would not consent.
"It's of no use," she said. "They are gone. There is no 'power' present."
He again faced her with alien, accusing eyes. "When will you try this again?"
"Home!" he sneered, looking about. "Do you expect me to call this place home? Do you expect me to hang about this scrubby hole to be disciplined by your Voices?"
The sound of a knock at the door gave her a moment's respite. "The postman," she explained as she rose to go to the door.
She was gone for several minutes and Victor heard her in friendly conversation with a pleasant male voice. Some way this added to his anger and disgust.
She came back with a letter in her hand which she began at once to open. "It is from Louise, I mean Mrs. Joyce."
She read it through with smiling face, then said, "Victor, you must be nice to Louise, she has done _everything_ for us."
This brought him to his feet. "I understand all that now. It is _her_ money I've been living on--I won't touch another cent that comes from her. Understand that! I won't eat another dinner that she pays for."
"Why, Victor, you should not feel that way! What has she done to make you bitter?"
"Nothing. I refuse to live on her charity, that's all, and I want you to find out just how much I owe her--how much _you_ owe her--for I intend to pay her back every dollar with interest."
"But she considers I've already paid her. She feels that I have always given her bounteous return for all her aid."
"I don't figure it that way," he said. "She's just amusing herself--"
She interrupted. "Listen to what she says." She read: "'I want to tell you how much I like your son. He is so vivid and so powerful. I'm sorry he is to miss his degree. Can't you persuade him to go back? I'll be glad to advance what is necessary--'"
"There it is, you see! There's the rich lady helping a poor relation."
"Wait, son!" she pleaded, and read on. "'I feel that I owe you ten times what you've permitted me to do for you.'"
"That's all very nice of her, mother, but I won't have any more of it." He pounded out the sentence with his fist.
She looked up at him with mingled fear and pride. "You are exactly like your father as you say that," she declared. "Oh, Victor, my son! If _you_ leave me in anger I shall be desolate indeed. I can't live without you. Please believe in me--and love me--for you're all I have on this earth."