He might wish his son to become a bond salesman or to embark in the cloak and suit business. Harold was a little dubious about the future. He seemed to lack strong desires, but he was conscious of a few strong aversions. The cloak and suit business was one of these, for a reason hereinafter to be noted.
Moodily occupied with such morbid meditations, Harold had been sitting in the hat-rack for ten or fifteen minutes. He sat there for another five before the approach of the man who had met him at the door announced to him that his suspense was presently to be relieved in however unpleasant a manner.
The man spoke: Mr. Prewett will see you now, sir.
The man led the way, Harold following closely at his heels, up the red-carpeted staircase, along the upper hallway to the very front, where he knocked on a closed door. There was a moment of hesitation before a brusque Come in! concluded all this preliminary ceremony. Harold's heart was beating very fast; he was entirely unaware of the opening and closing of the door, the departure of the servant, and his own eventual shuffling to the centre of the room. When he had recovered himself sufficiently to look about, he noted that he seemed to be standing in a vast library. A man, who was, he assumed, his father, sat facing him, bent over a desk, apparently intent on the perusal of a quantity
