He turned and went out without another word.
That he had hurt his father Harold knew, but in exactly what other way he could have acted he could not tell.

The overanxiety on the father's part irritated the boy.

Had he been less morbid, less self-accusing, he would have won.

Harold passionately loved strength and decision, especially in a big man like his father, who looked like a soldier and a man of action, and who ought not to cry like a woman.

If only he would act all the time as he did when he threw the sheriff across the walk that day on the street.