Listen! do you hear?--there goes
another waltz. Now, as long as you do live here, why not join in
it too and help out the best you can?--and if you have anything of
your own to offer in the way of good cheer, or thoughtfulness, or
kindness, or whatever you do have which they lack--or rather what
you think they lack--wouldn't it be wiser--wouldn't it--if you
will permit me, my lad--be a little BETTER BRED to contribute
something of your own excellence to the festivity?"
It was now Jack's turn to lean back in his chair and cover his
face, but with two ashamed hands. Not since his father's death had
any one talked to him like this--never with so much tenderness and
truth and with every word meant for his good. All his
selfrighteousness, his silly conceit and vainglory stood out
before him. What an ass he had been. What a coxcomb. What a boor,
really.
"What would you have me do?" he asked, a tone of complete
surrender in his voice. The portrait and Peter were one and the
same! His father had come to life.
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