Roger selects from it and
lights up nervously. He is now prepared for the worst.
'Have you ever wondered, Roger, what sort of a fellow I am?'
Guardedly, 'Often.'
Mr. Torrance casts all sense of decency to the winds; such is one of the
effects of war.
'I have often wondered what sort of fellow you are, Roger. We have both
been at it on the sly. I suppose that is what makes a father and son so
uncomfortable in each other's presence.'
Roger is not yet prepared to meet him half-way, but he casts a line.
'Do you feel the creeps when you are left alone with me?'
'Mortally, Roger. My first instinct is to slip away.'
'So is mine,' with deep feeling.
'You don't say so!' with such surprise that the father undoubtedly goes
up a step in the son's estimation. 'I always seem to know what you are
thinking, Roger.'
'Do you? Same here.'
'As a consequence it is better, it is right, it is only decent that you
and I should be very chary of confidences with each other.'
Roger is relieved. 'I'm dashed glad you see it in that way.'
'Oh, quite. And yet, Roger, if you had to answer this question on oath,
"Whom do you think you are most like in this world?" I don't mean
superficially, but deep down in your vitals, what would you say? Your
mother, your uncle, one of your friends on the golf links?'
'No.
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