THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
be forced to carry some of the burden. A cold-blooded, money-making father on one side and a vain, dissatisfied pleasure-loving mother on the other, it followed naturally that these attributes should combine in the offspring. The old man had roared and cursed at the son, and the mother had pampered him. The boy had afforded the parents a mutual ground for quarreling. They never met that they did not wrangle over him. Not that they cared particularly whether he went wrong or right, but because the elder Colburton hated his wife and was despised by her. A man with the soul of David might have come through this unscathed; but the younger Colburton had the soul of a Jacob, always ready to exchange a mess of pottage for a birthright.
All alone now, free of all manner of leashes, he was proud of his riches and the power they gave him. He was an unfettered king. He had absolute freedom. He had millions which would not fritter away, no matter how deeply he plunged his hands into them. All doors opened at a nod from his head, and a gesture scattered obstacles as the north winds scatter the dead leaves of autumn. To wish was to have, which is not a good thing for any man.
Norton Colburton had never done a kindness without some ulterior purpose, always negative so far as goodness was concerned. Women were a source of pleasure and amusement. That they had been predestined to bring up sons straight and clean was an idea which lay unformative in his
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