"Well, Hardy what have you found out about the Watkins family? Something satisfactory, I hope!"
Mr. Forbes spoke to the detective with unusual good nature.
But Hardy closed the office door and advanced to the desk where the superintendent was sitting.
"On the contrary, sir; I have found things very unsatisfactory," was his answer. "Watkins is in the hospital, half dead from brain fever, his mother is a feeble old woman without a penny, and as for that young scamp who stole your money, he's among the missing—he's vamoosed entirely!"
"Well, why don't you find him?" asked Mr. Forbes, a little less pleasantly. "That's what I told you to do! Didn't you understand my orders?"
"I haven't had time to find him," muttered the detective, sullenly. "He's been spirited away. I think he's out of the city."
"So you see no way of getting back that three hundred dollars. Well, there's got to be a way! We can't afford to lose it!"
"Lose what?" asked Mr. Denton, coming in just then.
Mr. Forbes hastily repeated the detective's information.
"You say the mother is penniless and young Watkins critically ill? Well, I should think that was trouble enough for one family," said Mr. Denton slowly. "Mr. Forbes, it is my wish that you should stop right here! I wish you to drop the matter of the money completely."
"What!"
Mr. Forbes wheeled around in his chair and stared at his partner.
"I mean it," said Mr, Denton, "and, what is more, I command it! As senior partner of this firm I expect my orders to be respected!"
Mr. Forbes made a heroic effort at self-control. When he could trust his voice he attempted to answer.
"Perhaps you have forgotten, Mr. Denton, that we are drawing on our funds very heavily this week. There are those alterations in the basement to satisfy the Board of Health and two hundred dollars for that Miss Jennings' funeral. Neither of these expenses would have been incurred if I had not been absent so much of late; but is it wise, do you think, to add to these the three hundred that Sam Watkins robbed us of?"
Mr. Denton seemed to ignore the last half of the sentence. His mind was dwelling upon the other things mentioned.
"What I have not forgotten, Mr. Forbes, is this," he said, quietly: "That funeral that you speak of has given us one of the biggest free 'ads.' that this firm has ever enjoyed. Why, the space it occupies in one paper alone is worth at least a thousand dollars! And, so far as the alterations are concerned—well, I have just ordered them stopped. I'm going to close up that room to employees altogether!"
If the sky had fallen Mr. Forbes could not have been any more surprised. Even the hardened detective almost gasped in astonishment.
"But you have no right to do this," growled Mr. Forbes. "You should consult your partners in such matters, Mr. Denton."
Mr. Denton smiled grimly at the angry man's words.
"You are partners, nominally, yes," he said slowly, "but I hardly think it would pay either you or Mr. Day to oppose me."
His words were very true, as Mr. Forbes well knew. Both he and Mr. Day were deeply indebted to their senior partner. He "owned them body and soul," as many persons would express it.
"I have been doing a lot of thinking in the past two days, Mr. Forbes," went on Mr. Denton, "but as you would hardly appreciate my sentiments, I will keep my thoughts to myself a little longer. Here, Hardy, you are excused from the Watkins affair! Go back to your duties in the store, and see that you are very careful not to annoy any innocent persons."
Bob Hardy made his way out of the office almost in a daze. He had been in the service of the store ever since it was opened, but such instructions as these meant a brand-new departure.
"I wonder what the deuce has got into him, anyway," he muttered. "He talks like a man that's got struck with religion!"
As he walked slowly down the stairs to the first floor of the building he met a brother detective, who stared at him curiously.
"What's the matter, Hardy? Look's if you'd had a shock! Been havin' a set-to with old Forbes, I'll bet a dollar!"
"You're wrong," was Hardy's answer. "It was the old man this time. There's something wrong with the boss. I think he's getting religion!"
"Get out! You don't mean it!" said the other fellow, contemptuously.
"Don't I?" said Hardy. "Well, you just listen to this!"
He repeated the conversation that had just taken place in the superintendent's office.
"Whew! That does sound like it!" said his companion, whose name was Ben Tyler. "He's off his trolley completely, especially about the money!"
"Well, that makes two trow-downs I've got this week," said Hardy, sourly, "but I got the fifty from that masher that I was telling you about! You remember, the swell that calls himself Captain Deering?"
"Yes, I remember," laughed Tyler. "So he caught his bird, did he, or, rather, you caught her for him!"
"I guess it worked all right," said Hardy, slowly. "He met her and talked with her, and that's usually enough. Still, he was glum as an oyster when he gave me the money."
"Mr. Hardy," called a voice at the foot of the stairs. "Come down, quick; you are wanted! There's a shop-lifter over in the hosiery department!"
Mr. Hardy stopped long enough to hear the words, then he made his way directly to the department mentioned.
He paused at the counter and began examining some goods, and as he did so one of the clerks came up to him as though she expected to wait on him.
"Is this the one?" muttered the detective under his breath, at the same time making a slight motion toward the woman.
"Can't say," whispered the clerk. "I just missed the goods. There were six pairs of hose—they all went together."
Hardy glanced again at the woman, whose face was drawn and haggard. She was by far the poorest customer at the counter.
"'Taint's no use tacklin' them others," he whispered to the clerk, "for if I ever nabbed a rich one she'd make things lively for me—but I guess it's the poor one that's got 'em, anyway."
"She looks desperate," answered the clerk, leaning over the counter. "And, you know, she could sell 'em and make a little something."
Hardy nodded knowingly, with his keen glance still on the woman. As she moved slowly away from the counter he followed her at a distance.
Five minutes later she had reached the ribbon department. As she stopped at the counter Faith went forward to wait on her.
"I would like a yard of white ribbon, miss," said the poor woman timidly. "This cheap ribbon, please, for I haven't much money. It's to go on the shroud of a poor dead neighbor."
Faith measured the ribbon quickly and made out a check. As she turned for the woman's money she smiled at her pleasantly.
The next moment Bob Hardy stepped forward and tapped the woman on the shoulder.
"You are wanted in the office, madam," he said, very rudely. "You've been stealing goods in the store, and have got them in your pocket!"
With a cry of terror the poor woman looked up into his face.
"It is false!" she cried wildly. "I never stole a penny's worth in my life! Oh, miss, don't let him touch me! I'm an honest woman!"
In a second Faith darted from her place behind the counter. When she reached the aisle she threw her arms around the woman.
"Stand back, Bob Hardy! Don't you dare to touch her!" she cried, sharply. "Are you so blinded with wickedness that you can't see she is honest?"
As Faith wrapped her arms around the woman Mr. Denton appeared in the department. He was just in time to hear her ringing question.
There were a dozen or more customers standing around the counters, and they all stood staring in wide-eyed astonishment.
Mr. Denton saw that something must be done at once. It would never do to have a scene like this in the store, for, besides stopping business, it was productive of mischief.
In an instant he realized that he had to deal with Faith, for the woman was clinging to the girl and imploring her protection.
He went forward at once and spoke as calmly as possible.
"Take her up to the office, Miss Marvin, and quiet her if you can. She shall not be harmed. I have no doubt she is innocent."
"And I know she isn't," blurted out Hardy, angrily. He was frantic to think that the woman might escape him.
"Well, whether she is or not, she will be treated kindly," said Mr. Denton. "So use your power to make her go quietly, Miss Marvin."
As he said these words he looked straight at Faith, and the thankfulness in her eyes repaid him in an instant.
"Come, my friend," she said sweetly. "Come with me to the office. There is nothing to be afraid of. You will only have to prove your innocence."
The woman checked her sobs and went willingly. Faith's manner had calmed her fears in great measure. Mr. Hardy followed them to make his accusations, and Mr. Denton led them all to his own private office. As soon as they were there a woman detective was sent for, and the supposed shop-lifter was taken behind a screen and searched thoroughly.
While this was being done Faith was bursting with indignation.
"Just think of an innocent person being subjected to such an outrage!" she cried. "Oh, Mr. Denton, is there not some other way to do this?"
"I wish there was," said that gentleman shortly, "for our detective's mistakes have already cost us several thousand dollars."
"I don't wonder," said Faith. "A woman could hardly forgive such an insult, but your detective is capable of far worse, Mr. Denton; he is a very wicked man. I think it is my duty to denounce him."
If a thunder-bolt had fallen at his feet Hardy could hardly have been more astonished. He had not dreamed that the timid girl would dare tell what he had done, particularly as she had acquiesced, as he supposed, in his vile suggestion.
Mr. Denton glanced at her sharply, but she did not quail, although her cheeks were scarlet over the unpleasant remembrance.
"Eh! What has Hardy done? Tell me at once, Miss Marvin. You will never have a better time than when he is present to hear you."
"Oh, I would never tell it behind his back," said Faith. "I always deal fairly and squarely, even with my enemies."
As she spoke, she looked Hardy steadily in the eye. He saw that she would treat him justly, but with no mercy. It was a difficult matter for Faith to tell her tale, but she did it in a way that was absolutely convincing.
"And, oh, Mr. Denton," she cried in conclusion, "is it not enough that we girls have to work so hard without being subjected to such vile, unspeakable horrors?"
Mr. Denton put his hands to his temples and pressed them hard for a moment. The girl's words had overwhelmed him with the full sense of his negligence.
To be able to prevent all or many of these evils and then to be indifferent, thoughtless, neglectful. It had all come to him at once—while the girl was speaking, just as the first tinge of remorse had come when Miss Jennings was dying.
Hardy was standing like a statue, his face purple with anger. It was useless for him to speak. He was convicted without evidence.
Mr. Denton had not replied when the poor woman was led out. She had been searched thoroughly by the woman detective, but there were no stolen goods about her.
"That settles it, Hardy. You can go," said Mr. Denton wearily. "The cashier will pay you. I am done with your services."
"Oh no!"
Faith gave utterance to a pitiful cry. Hardy turned and glared at her a second and then left the office.
"Oh, I did not mean to get him discharged," groaned Faith. "Perhaps a little more mercy would have been far better."
"He deserves no mercy," said Mr. Denton, shortly. There was a decision in his words that was quite contrary to his nature.
The poor woman slipped away thankfully with a grateful smile at Faith, and she was left alone with Mr. Denton. It was the moment she had been praying for, and Faith did not intend to lose it Without a moment's hesitation she spoke softly to her employer.
"Please, Mr. Denton, may I say a few words more? They are not busy downstairs. I am sure they'll not need me."
"Say what you wish," was the answer, and Faith hurried on. Her very soul was on her lips as the words fell from them.
"There are so many things that might be done to improve the conditions for the girls—so much that would add to their happiness and comfort! And it would not take a penny from their sales, either, sir, for surely a clerk that is well and satisfied with her surroundings will be far more courteous to her customers as well as more loyal to her employers. If they could only sit down and rest now and then! It is awful to stand so many long hours. We grow faint and sick, and our backs ache terribly. Why, I have only been in the store a few days, yet last night I could not sleep, I was so lame and weary."
She paused for breath, and then hurried on. Mr. Denton had turned his face away, but was listening intently.
"There are all sorts and kinds of girls in the store, Mr. Denton; some are good and pure, while others are reckless and even vicious. Poor things, they have nothing behind them but memories of sorrow, and there is nothing ahead of them but hard work and trouble. It seems to me God never meant us to have it so hard—if He had He would have made our nerves and our muscles stronger. I think he meant us to do our share of work in the world, but he made men to protect us from the real drudgery of life, whether they were our fathers, brothers, husbands or employers. Of course, I am only a child in years, but it has all been forced upon me by a single week in the store. I have seen more sorrow in three days than I ever dreamed of, and I am praying night and day to be able to relieve it."
She came to a dead stop with the tears choking her voice. The next instant Mr. Denton rose and patted her on the shoulder.
"Bless you, child, you have shown me my duty at last!" he said, hoarsely. "I have neglected it long enough, but, with the help of God, I will neglect it no longer."
Faith gave a cry of joy as she heard the words.
"Oh, my prayers have been answered, dear Mr. Denton!" she cried. "I have been begging God to let me be His torch-bearer on earth, to carry the light into the dark places where it is so much needed, to banish with its glow all the shadows of evil!"
The rest of the day passed very pleasantly to Faith. She was so over-joyed at Mr. Denton's expressions in the morning that it seemed as if nothing could depress her spirits. The "peace that passeth understanding," had come into her heart, and even Maggie Brady's glances of hatred failed to cause her more than a passing sorrow.
That evening she hurried home, and had tea with her mother; then, taking little Dick between them, they went to the undertaker's establishment to be present at the funeral of Miss Jennings. As they reached the place Faith was surprised to see Mr. Day. He was standing on the steps talking to two young men, whose appearance indicated that they were newspaper reporters.
Both Faith and her mother were heavily veiled, and as they mounted the steps it was apparent to Faith that she was not recognized by her employer. As they passed she heard him speaking in a most affable manner. There were only a few words, but they made Faith shudder.
"We hope this sad occurrence will prove beneficial to our employees," he said blandly, "for they are apt to be thoughtless in religious matters."
"Did you hear that, mother?" Faith whispered the question softly.
"He's a hypocrite," answered her mother, with a moan of horror. "Just think, Faith, he is one of the men who ruined your father."
The room in which the casket lay was well filled with young women, but not half of their faces were familiar to Faith, although she concluded rightfully that they had all known Miss Jennings.
"Can you sing, miss?" asked a gentleman in black whom Faith saw at once was the undertaker. "I have secured a minister, but they did not allow me for singers."
"I'll try," said Faith, with a sob in her throat. "I can sing some of the Moody and Sankey hymns if you think they will be suitable."
"One will do," said the gentleman. "Sing it right after the prayer. I expect the others will all join in if you select a familiar one."
Faith nodded her head and looked around the room again. She soon saw Miss Fairbanks, Miss Jones and one or two others with whom she had spoken during her brief period of service. Mr. Gibson came in just then with another reporter. The young man was taking down in shorthand what Mr. Gibson told him.
"It is the first death that has ever occurred in the store, and consequently the firm is much distressed over it," said Mr. Gibson. "They are remarkably considerate of their employees, and this poor girl was a consumptive; she was ill when we hired her."
"Do you pay all the expenses?" asked the reporter, without looking up.
"Certainly, certainly!" said Mr. Gibson. "The firm is extremely generous in all such matters."
The reporter left just as the minister entered. It was apparent that for some reason Mr. Gibson intended to remain as representative of the firm.
Poor little Dick cried miserably for the first few minutes, but he finally fell asleep on Mrs. Marvin's bosom.
After the clergyman had spoken a few simple words, and offered a fervent prayer, there was a moment of solemn, breathless silence. Some one entered softly. It was Mr. Denton. Faith had no opportunity to look at his face, for Mr. Davis, the undertaker, signaled her that it was time for the hymn.
Almost without realizing it the young girl rose and went over to the coffin. As she caught sight of the dead girl's face she seemed to receive an inspiration direct from heaven.
Her voice was a soft, sweet contralto, and had been carefully trained. As she sounded the first note the silence in the room seemed deeper than ever. Not a voice joined in to help her with the hymn, for the girls were all spell-bound at such unexpected music.
With her eyes bent lovingly on her dead friend's face, Faith finished the verse of the hymn she had selected, but as she reached the refrain she raised her eyes beseechingly, and her glance fell directly upon the bowed head of Mr. Denton.
The words rang from her lips like the peal of a bell. There was prayer, supplication, eagerness in every intonation.
As the last note died away several of the girls burst out crying, and Mr. Denton raised his head and looked at her.
Faith took her seat calmly. The inspiration had not left her. She felt lifted up in soul into a higher atmosphere, where there was no pain or sorrow—only tenderness and rejoicing.
The rest followed swiftly. The last farewell to the departed; with poor Dick moaning and sobbing, the ladies turned their footsteps homeward.
Faith caught a glimpse of Mr. Denton walking rapidly down the street. The next moment she heard her name spoken, and turned to greet Miss Dean, the store inspector.
"Am I too late?" asked Miss Dean, extending her hand cordially. "I was detained at the last moment. I intended being present at the funeral."
"I am sorry you were not," said Faith sincerely, then, after introducing her mother and little Dick, she made an eager communication.
"I really believe, Miss Dean, that poor Mary's death has accomplished great things! I am sure that Mr. Denton has felt it keenly, and that her dying words have awakened his sleeping conscience."
Miss Dean looked surprised, but did not reply, so Faith went on to tell why she thought so.
After she had related her conversation with Mr. Denton in the morning, the lady suddenly put her hand on her arm and looked at her searchingly.
"If you have accomplished that, you have indeed worked a miracle," she said, decidedly; "but deeds speak louder than words. We shall see how Mr. Denton puts his conversation into practice."
"Oh, that's it," said Mrs. Marvin, quickly. "Practice and precept are quite different things. Why, those men are all church members, do you know, Miss Dean; yet see how little their religion is allowed to influence their lives. It seems as if it was kept only for funerals and Sundays."
"That has been my observation in nearly every instance," said Miss Dean, slowly. "I have often said that if I could see a conscientious Christian I would be willing to give up some of my present theories."
"Do tell us one of your theories," said Mrs. Marvin. "I, too, am very bitter against hypocrisy in the church. I shall be glad if some one else feels the same as I do, for my daughter is constantly reproving me for my distrust and bitterness."
"Well, for one thing," said Miss Dean, "I think religion impracticable. No person can follow Christ and succeed in any line of business."
"I agree with you," exclaimed Mrs. Marvin, promptly. "The principles of Christianity oppose success at every turn. To be Christ-like one must always be poor, always weak and, consequently, always downtrodden."
"Your daughter does not believe that," said Miss Dean, smiling.
Faith was so in earnest when she answered that she stopped on the sidewalk and faced them.
"Is there any success greater than this," she asked, eagerly, "to earn those precious words from the lips of our Saviour, 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant,' and to receive at the end of life that joy everlasting that is promised to those who follow Him, even though they bear the cross of worldly failure?"
Miss Dean stared at the young girl in honest admiration. While she questioned her reasoning, she almost envied her. If a simple faith was so satisfying it was certainly worth having, but to natures like hers this simple faith was impossible.
When Mr. Denton left that scene of sorrow in which Faith Marvin had just played so sweet a role, he could not possibly have described his tumultuous feelings. Not a night since that sad death in the cloak-room had he been able to sleep peacefully, and even by day his thoughts were sorely disturbed. It was, as his son had said, as though the spirit of Miss Jennings was haunting him.
He was not a bad-hearted man by any means, but, like hundreds of others, he thought only of his own interests and those of his wife and son, who were very dear to him. Out of his own station in life he rarely looked, and the question of equal rights never presented itself to him seriously.
Now, however, something had taken possession of him which he could not understand. He was beginning to meditate upon the rights of others.
As he hurried home after those brief moments at the undertaker's, he went over the scenes of the last few days, trying to determine the causes which led to his perturbation of spirit.
First and foremost in his mind was the conversation with the Government Inspector just before the death of Miss Jennings. She had taken him seriously to task about the condition of the store, and her words had stung him; they were so earnest and truthful. At the very moment of his entrance to the cloak-room he was mentally censuring himself for his almost criminal thoughtlessness for the consideration of others.
Then came the dying words and the glance of those death-glazed eyes. He shuddered even now when he recalled them so vividly.
Since then the awakening of his conscience had come, he had seen himself exactly as he was, a traitor to himself, to humanity, and to his God, and the sight filled him with remorse. He was shamed and repentant.
What to do next, was the question of his soul. He could not undo the past, but, thank God, there was still a present and a future!
He paced the floor of his library long after his wife and son were in bed, but the next morning at breakfast he told them his decision.
Mrs. Denton was a vain woman, who thought of little but the fashions, and whose time was nearly always taken up with what she termed her "social obligations."
Her husband's serious words had the effect of frightening her badly. She looked at him anxiously, as though she feared he had gone crazy.
With young Denton it was different. He was thoroughly astonished and amazed. It was the first time in his life that he had ever heard a word from his father's lips that was not freighted with the so-called wisdom of worldliness.
"I have been blind to my duties and opportunities at the store," said Mr. Denton, in conclusion. "I have been too much occupied with the making and saving of money to bestow a thought upon the higher duties that lay directly in my path—the aiding and protecting of my fellow beings."
"Well, you'll have your hands full, dad, if you help them all," said young Denton when he had recovered a little from his surprise. "I think you ought to do many things differently, of course, but you'll bankrupt yourself if you shoulder all their burdens."
His father did not answer. He was thinking seriously. An hour later he was at the field of action, filled with the righteous determination to do his duty.
Mr. Day sat in his office when his partner entered. He was busy with one of the "buyers," so Mr. Denton stood still and listened.
A large pile of "ready-made" garments lay upon a convenient table, and as the buyer talked, he held them up for examination.
"I find I can get this grade of goods from a man named Finckelstein for ten cents less per garment than I have been getting them from Goldberg. They are very well made, and the quality is satisfactory. No one will ever guess that they are not exactly what we advertise. I ordered this lot for closer inspection. If they are satisfactory to you, sir, I will give him a stock order."
Mr. Day mused a little before he replied. Meanwhile he was fingering the garments in a critical manner.
"Umph! Isn't there a peculiar odor about these garments, Smith?" he asked, after a minute. "I am sure there is! Really, I wish you hadn't brought them in here!"
"I will take them away immediately, sir," said the buyer, apologetically. "They were made in a 'sweatshop,' you see, so it is quite possible they are permeated with unpleasant odors, but I will have them aired before they are put on the counters."
"Are you sure they are not permeated with disease?" asked Mr. Denton, suddenly. "I am told that those 'sweat-shops' are disgustingly dirty places."
"Oh, the Board of Health looks after that," said the buyer quickly, "and, besides, I saw a good many of Finckelstein's hands—they were mostly clean, respectable looking women."
"How much do they get apiece for these?" questioned Mr. Denton again, as he picked up a garment and held it at arm's length to inspect it.
"Oh, about forty cents, I guess; and they can make two in a day. There's a good deal of work on them," was the buyer's answer.
"What do they cost us?"
The question was asked rather sharply.
Mr. Smith consulted his notebook before he answered.
"Fifty cents in gross lots, and sixty by the dozen. We use a great many; it will ruin Goldberg to lose us."
"And what do we get for them?"
Mr. Denton was reaching for the price tag now. His brow was almost black as he asked the question.
Mr. Smith looked at him anxiously—he could not quite comprehend him.
"Two dollars, sir," he answered, smiling—"and they sell like hot cakes. It's the grade of goods that yields us the best profit."
Mr. Denton dropped the garment with a look of horror in his face.
"Take the things away," he said shortly, "and, see here, Smith, don't order any more goods from any of those 'sweat-shops!' I won't have another dollar's worth of them in the building!"
The buyer looked amazed, while Mr. Day turned almost purple.
"We make an average of three hundred per cent on every garment, and we have contracts with some 'sweat-shops' or other for a dozen grades of clothing!"
"We'll buy them off them at a good round sum; then you hear what I say—no more 'sweat-shops,' Mr. Smith!" was the calm reply.
The buyer bundled up his goods and hurried out of the office. His employer's decision nearly took his breath away.
"Are you crazy, Denton?" cried Mr. Day, as soon as the door was closed. "Is it possible that you have lost your senses completely?"
"On the contrary, Mr. Day," was the serious answer. "The truth is, I have only just come to my senses."
He went over and put his finger on an electric button.
"Tell Mr. Forbes to come in here," he said to the boy who answered, then he drew three chairs close together, and sat down in one of them.
When Mr. Forbes entered the office it was very plain that he was angry. His features were darkened by a frown that was, to say the least, forbidding. Without even noticing his expression Mr. Denton offered him a chair and then started in to make some astonishing statements.
"Gentlemen," he said, distinctly, "I have a confession to make. I have already made it to my God, and to my family; it is now fitting and necessary that I make it to my partners. To be as brief as possible, my confession is this: While I have succeeded admirably in laying up treasure on earth, I have woefully failed in laying up treasure in heaven. While I have done my duty from a worldly point of view, by my wife and family, I have been persistently injuring many hundreds of my fellow beings, and showing no consideration whatever for their moral or physical welfare. I thank God that at last I have been led to see the error of my ways, and that there is still time for me to undo in some measure what I have done, and to make amends for the past in the present and future. Now, what concerns you in this confession, firstly, is this: As senior member and three-fourths owner in the firm of Denton, Day & Co., I am about to assume the responsibility of its business, and to introduce new methods in its various systems which I have every reason to believe will not meet with your approval. To be absolutely fair and square, I will tell you what a few of these changes will be. I cannot tell them all, because that would be impossible. They will develop day by day as the necessity arises and confronts me. If it is possible I shall run this store in future on a Christian basis, or, in other words, on the basis of physical and moral justice, and whether the experiment proves disastrous or successful, I shall follow it to the end. I shall sink or swim as the Lord permits me."
As he finished, he looked calmly at the faces of his two partners. There was no excitement visible in his manner, except that he breathed a little heavier. For a moment only blank consternation reigned, then Mr. Day drew himself up with a scornful air, while Mr. Forbes sat staring at him with his head bowed upon his bosom.
"And suppose we do not give our consent to these changes that you speak of?" said Mr. Day, curtly. "Do you forget, Mr. Denton, that this partnership has still several years to run? Whether we own much or little of the capital, we are still your partners!"
"And as such you are at liberty to oppose my actions," answered Mr. Denton, quickly; "but in that case I shall resort to the most extreme measures, for my mind is made up, and my decision final!"
At this demonstration of firmness on Mr. Denton's part, Mr. Forbes still sat speechless with his head bowed sullenly. Mr. Day, on the contrary, nearly exploded with wrath, but at each angry suggestion he was met with the same firm refusal.
"Are we to be made laughing stocks for the whole business world to jeer at?" he asked as he paced the office furiously, "or to be bankrupted through methods that border strongly on insanity? For it is nothing else, Mr. Denton, but raving lunacy! No man in his sober senses would entertain such a plan for the space of a second! Why, your orders about those sweat-shops were simply ridiculous! Are we to pay more for our goods than they are really worth, and then make a charity organization of ourselves and give them to our customers?"
Mr. Denton smiled sadly. He was not at all surprised.
What amused him most was the demeanor of Mr. Forbes; he had expected vituperations from him at every point of his confession.
"You are free to rid yourself of all association with the firm," was Mr. Denton's only answer. "I will buy you out at your own figure, Mr. Day; or, as I said before, I will end the thing at once. I will apply at once to have a receiver appointed."
"But I don't wish to be bought out, and I don't wish to dissolve partnership. This store is making a fortune for us all. I would be a fool to throw over such a magnificent investment!"
Mr. Denton quoted the words soberly, almost reverently. As he did so a vision of Faith Marvin rose suddenly before him.
"Pshaw! You have lost your senses, Denton!" cried Mr. Day. "Am I to be scared into idiocy by the words of some fanatic?"
"You have said nothing, Mr. Forbes," said Mr. Denton, turning from Mr. Day quietly.
"I have nothing to say," remarked Mr. Forbes, gruffly. "It is as Mr. Day says; you have lost your senses."
Mr. Denton sighed heavily. He was a little disappointed.
"You can talk the matter over by yourselves," he said, finally, "and remember, I stand ready to deal fairly by my partners. My loss, if I have one, need not be theirs; you have only to state a willingness to comply or settle."
He walked out of the office, closing the door behind him. A second later he had arrived at the door of his own office.
"Please, sir, may I see you a minute, sir?" asked a voice just behind him.
He turned and recognized Sam Watkins, the boy who had stolen the five hundred dollars.
"Come in, Sam," he said, kindly. The child looked at him in surprise. The moment the door closed behind him he burst out crying.
"Come, come, boy, don't cry! I won't scold you," said Mr. Denton, smiling.
He took Sam's hand in his own and patted it encouragingly.
"I couldn't help it, sir; indeed, I couldn't!" he blurted out. "Poor ma was so sick and needed money so dreadful!"
"So you took it for your mother," said Mr. Denton. "Now, tell me the truth, Sam; what did you do with the other three hundred dollars?"
Sam Watkins looked up into the gentleman's face. His eyes were red from weeping, but they did not waver.
"I lost it, sir," he said, simply. "It was in my coat pocket. You see, I divided the wad, sir, so it wouldn't look so bulky!"
"And did your mother scold you?" asked Mr. Denton, still smiling.
The boy's glance fell to the floor and he shifted his feet uneasily.
"No, sir, she didn't scold—that is, not exactly," he said, sniffing. "She just talked to me, sir, and then she cried something awful!"
Mr. Denton turned his head away for about a minute. There was something in the boy's story that affected him strangely. The poor woman had wept because her boy had stolen some money, yet rich men smiled complacently over what they called "good bargains," but which in reality were little more than thieving.
"How is your brother?" he asked, when he could trust himself to speak.
The boy's lips trembled and he began crying before he answered.
"He's pretty bad, sir; in the hospital," he whispered, brokenly. "They think he'll die! You see, his sweetheart, Miss Jennings, died the very day after I stole the money, and the two things, with his hard work, knocked poor Fred out completely."
"Was Miss Jennings his sweetheart?" asked Mr. Denton in astonishment. This was a phase of that horror that he had not even dreamed of.
"Oh, yes, they were sweethearts," said the boy, with a hysterical giggle. "They was awfully in love, but they couldn't afford to get married."
Mr. Denton rose from his desk and paced the office floor. The misery in the situation was even blacker than he had realized.
"See here, boy!" he said suddenly. "Give me your mother's address, and here's a ten-dollar bill for her. Now, go home and take care of her."
The boy's face flushed crimson as he refused the money.
"I wouldn't dare to take it," he muttered sheepishly. "She'd think I stole it."
"Then I'll send it by mail," said Mr. Denton quickly, "and I'll tell her at the same time that we don't mind about the three hundred. We can forgive a boy who only stole to help a sick mother."
"Oh, sir!" cried the boy. But he could get no farther. The next second he was shaking with a storm of sobs. The agony of his repentance had reached its limit. Before he left the building the letter had been posted to his mother through the pneumatic mailing tube that opened in Mr. Denton's office.
Mr. Denton's next duty was to see his buyers. He was still smarting with indignation over that "sweatshop" horror.
In less than an hour he had them all assembled in the receiving-room, which was piled from end to end with the products of underpaid labor.
His speech to them was short but decidedly to the point. They were to submit the names of the persons or firms whom they bought of, and receive his express commands concerning all further orders.
"I cannot have the souls of these poor creatures on my conscience any longer," he said at the conclusion of his statements. "So, if the public still want these goods, we will make them ourselves and pay those poor seamstresses what they are worth, besides letting them work in cleanly surroundings."
"But, Mr. Denton," spoke up one of the buyers who was a privileged character in the establishment, "that will entail endless work for the cashier's department, as well as work-rooms. As it is now, there is but one bill to pay where by your plan there would be a hundred or more, and, besides, we have no work-rooms to spare; we are already overcrowded."
"I know it," replied Mr. Denton, sadly, "and as I am well aware that reformation, like charity, should 'begin at home,' I must wait a little before putting my plan into action."
"My girls will never work with those people, I am sure," remarked the foreman of the work-rooms. "You have no idea what sticklers they are for caste. Why, as poor as they are, they turn up their noses at those beneath them!"
Mr. Denton smiled grimly at this information.
"They share that failing with the whole human family," he said, slowly. "Only a few are exempt from this feeling of scorn; they are the few who have learned to love their fellow-beings, however," he went on more cheerfully, "we who have set them this example of thoughtlessness and neglect must try to undo what we have done by patient precept and example."
His hearers stared at him, but they were too polite to reply. It was their opinion that the man had suddenly became deranged. They did not doubt for a moment that they would go on as usual.
After a few more arguments as to the impracticability of his suggestions, the men dispersed, casting meaning glances at each other.
Once beyond his hearing, they talked the startling situation over. Not one of them had ever heard of a similar occurrence.
Mr. Denton went back to his office to think a little. When he reached it he found Mr. Day pacing the floor as he waited for him.
"So your decision is final," he bellowed, as Mr. Denton entered. "You have fully decided to make a fool of yourself and wreck the firm, and all because you have not head enough to keep your religion out of business!"
Mr. Denton's face flushed, but he spoke as calmly as ever.
"If religion is needed anywhere, it is needed in business," he said quietly. "If I am a fool at all it is because I did not find it out sooner."
"Very well, then," roared Mr. Day. "I refuse to submit to such nonsense! Furthermore, as Mr. Forbes will not hear of dissolution, I shall expect you and him to buy me out at once! I will sell my right, title and interest for one hundred thousand dollars."
"But that is four times what you put in," said Mr. Denton, quickly, "and as you have already been paid a large interest on your investment, your price is exorbitant; are you too angry to see it?"
"I should have gotten that out of it before the expiration of the partnership. It is that figure or nothing," said Mr. Day, doggedly, "and, mind, I will fight against dissolution, tooth and nail, Mr. Denton. I would be as mad as you are if I did not do so!"
"Then I will pay you that amount at once, Mr. Day," said the gentleman. "I will give you a check on my personal bank account and acquire your interest as a private investment. Your price is too exorbitant to permit my purchasing it for the firm, but we will attend to the details when Mr. Forbes is present."