It was merely that he happened to be indiscreet the last time he was having a good time. He had made a little too much noise, and the echo had reached a number of people in town. That was all. It was hard luck, but it did not amount to enough to become dramatic over. Merely because his great-grandfather did something and his grandfather was something was no reason, as far as he could see, why the Lawrences should have unique moral standards. The governor was certainly getting old.
Then he had carefully arranged the leaves of the letter in order, mechanically folded and put them in a pigeon-hole of the desk, and opened and spread out the other letter before him. But he did so unconsciously, for he was staring straight out ahead of him into the face of the future, which had expressionless features. His father had concluded with "Signify to me at once your intention of a complete change in your career, or, notwithstanding your nearness to graduation, I shall take you out of college and put you at work in Van Brunt's." That is not the way a boy likes to be written to.
"Oh, no, I don't think I'd do all that if I were you." He could not abide his father's tone when he spoke of _taking_ him out of college or _putting_ him at work, or doing anything with him. He was still young enough not to fancy being considered young.
And then the actuality of the situation occurred to him, and he was reminded that although twenty-one he had not a cent of his own, and that there was no place in the world to go to or a thing that he could do to make money enough to even pay his debts.
"Picture of a young man taken out of college because he is bad." He smiled broadly at himself in the glass over the mantelpiece. But it wasn't very funny.
And it was at this point that he dropped his eyes to read his father's words once more, and was startled for an instant to see a strange handwriting, and then remembered the other letter. He was again startled by the first words that met his glance. "Haven't you had enough of college?" At the top of the paper was the name of a La Salle Street, Chicago, firm. It was not so very queer after all. It was only that it was so startlingly apropos. He read the letter in eager gulps. Then he read it again.