You can see for yourself, can't you, Brian, 'twould not be the disorderly Bohemia you seem to hate?
'Twould not be hand-to-mouth.

Mind, I'm not seekin' to persuade you.

So help me God, I--I want you to do just what you want to do yourself--" "Kenny," said Brian dangerously, "if you go on one second more, you'll have me sniffling--" Horrified and guilty, Kenny bolted for the door, his hand clenched in his hair.
"One thing more, Brian," he said, wheeling, "I--I've got to say it.
I've anchored that damned stick to the psaltery with a shoestring.
We--we couldn't lose it!" And closing the door, Kenny again wiped his forehead, remembering sadly that he had planned to wind his son around his finger and induce him to return.

It had been the trend of all his preparation and resolve.

And now--what?
He had choked back his inclination and begged Brian, with impassioned sincerity, to do precisely what would please him most.
He wondered why the anticlimax brought him--peace.
When Doctor Cole arrived an hour later he found the shack in turmoil.
The truant hour of laughter and excitement, Kenny told him in a panic of remorse, had sharpened Brian's pain.