I remember that the joyous telegram he sent to my mother, telling of his success, and demanding that the fatted calf be killed for dinner that night was not received with unalloyed happiness.

To my mother and father it meant that their first-born was leaving home to seek his fortune, and that without Richard's love and sympathy the home could never be quite the same.

But the fatted calf was killed, every one pretended to be just as elated as Richard was over his good fortune, and in two days he left us for his first adventure.
The following note to his mother Richard scribbled off in pencil at the railway-station on his way to New York: I am not surprised that you were sad if you thought I was going away for good.

I could not think of it myself.

I am only going to make a little reputation and to learn enough of the business to enable me to live at home in the centre of the universe with you.