There's only one man, and that
man is Ronder."
Unfortunately Falk liked Ronder. "I think Ronder's rather a good sort," he
said. "A clever fellow, too."
The Archdeacon stared at him.
"You like him?"
"Yes, father, I do."
"And of course it matters nothing to you that he should by your father's
persistent enemy and do his best to hinder him in everything and every way
possible."
Falk smiled, one of those confident, superior smiles that are so justly
irritating to any parent.
"Oh, come, father," he said. "Aren't you rather exaggerating?"
"Exaggerating? Yes, of course you would take the other side. And what do
you know about it? There you are, lolling about in your chair, idling week
after week, until all the town talks about it----"
Falk sprang up.
"And whose fault is it if I do idle? What have I been wanting except to go
off and make a decent living? Whose fault----?"
"Oh, mine, of course!" the Archdeacon shouted. "Put it all down to me! Say
that I begged you to leave Oxford, that I want you to laze the rest of
your life away. Why shouldn't you, when you have a mother and sister to
support you?"
"Stop that, father.
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