That which was the supreme tragedy to the broken girl in the cellmerely afforded rather agreeable entertainment to her formerfellows of the department store. Mary Turner throughout her termof service there had been without real intimates, so that nownone was ready to mourn over her fate. Even the two room-mateshad felt some slight offense, since they sensed the superiorityof her, though vaguely. Now, they found a smug satisfaction inthe fact of her disaster as emphasizing very pleasurably theirown continuance in respectability.

　　As many a philosopher has observed, we secretly enjoy themisfortunes of others, particularly of our friends, since theyare closest to us. Most persons hasten to deny this truth in itsapplication to themselves. They do so either because from lack ofclear understanding they are not quite honest with themselves,from lack of clear introspection, or because, as may be moreeasily believed, they are not quite honest in the assertion. As amatter of fact, we do find a singular satisfaction in thetroubles of others. Contemplation of such suffering renders morestriking the contrasted well-being of our own lot. We need thepains of others to serve as background for our joys--just as sinis essential as the background for any appreciation of virtue,even any knowledge of its existence.... So now, on the day ofMary Turner's trial, there was a subtle gaiety of gossipings toand fro through the store. The girl's plight was like ashuttlecock driven hither and yon by the battledores of manytongues. It was the first time in many years that one of theemployees had been thus accused of theft. Shoplifters were socommon as to be a stale topic. There was a refreshing novelty inthis case, where one of themselves was the culprit. Her fellowworkers chatted desultorily of her as they had opportunity, andcomplacently thanked their gods that they were not as she--withreason. Perhaps, a very few were kindly hearted enough to feel atouch of sympathy for this ruin of a life.

　　Of such was Smithson, a member of the executive staff, who didnot hesitate to speak his mind, though none too forcibly. As forthat, Smithson, while the possessor of a dignity nourished byyears of floor-walking, was not given to the holding of vigorousopinions. Yet, his comment, meager as it was, stood wholly inMary's favor. And he spoke with a certain authority, since hehad given official attention to the girl.

　　Smithson stopped Sarah Edwards, Mr. Gilder's private secretary,as she was passing through one of the departments that morning,to ask her if the owner had yet reached his office.

　　"Been and gone," was the secretary's answer, with the tersenesscharacteristic of her.

　　"Gone!" Smithson repeated, evidently somewhat disturbed by theinformation. "I particularly wanted to see him.""He'll be back, all right," Sarah vouchsafed, amiably. "He wentdown-town, to the Court of General Sessions. The judge sent forhim about the Mary Turner case.""Oh, yes, I remember now," Smithson exclaimed. Then he added,with a trace of genuine feeling, "I hope the poor girl gets off.

　　She was a nice girl--quite the lady, you know, Miss Edwards.""No, I don't know," Sarah rejoined, a bit tartly. Truth to tell,the secretary was haunted by a grim suspicion that she herselfwas not quite the lady of her dreams, and never would be able toacquire the graces of the Vere De Vere. For Sarah, while a mostefficient secretary, was not in her person of that slenderelegance which always characterized her favorite heroines in thenovels she affected. On the contrary, she was of a sort to havegratified Byron, who declared that a woman in her maturity shouldbe plump. Now, she recalled with a twinge of envy that theaccused girl had been of an aristocratic slimness of form. "Oh,did you know her?" she questioned, without any real interest.

　　Smithson answered with that bland stateliness of manner which wasthe fruit of floor-walking politeness.

　　"Well, I couldn't exactly say I knew her, and yet I might say,after a manner of speaking, that I did--to a certain extent. Yousee, they put her in my department when she first came here towork. She was a good saleswoman, as saleswomen go. For thematter of that," he added with a sudden access of energy, "shewas the last girl in the world I'd take for a thief." Hedisplayed some evidences of embarrassment over the honest feelinginto which he had been betrayed, and made haste to recover hisusual business manner, as he continued formally. "Will youplease let me know when Mr. Gilder arrives? There are one or twolittle matters I wish to discuss with him.""All right!" Sarah agreed briskly, and she hurried on toward theprivate office.

　　The secretary was barely seated at her desk when the violentopening of the door startled her, and, as she looked up, a cheeryvoice cried out:

　　"Hello, Dad!"At the same moment, a young man entered, with an air of care-freeassurance, his face radiant. But, as his glance went to theempty arm-chair at the desk, he halted abruptly, and hisexpression changed to one of disappointment.

　　"Not here!" he grumbled. Then, once again the smile was on hislips as his eyes fell on the secretary, who had now risen to herfeet in a flutter of excitement.

　　"Why, Mr. Dick!" Sarah gasped.

　　"Hello, Sadie!" came the genial salutation. The young manadvanced and shook hands with her warmly. "I'm home again.

　　Where's Dad?"Even as he asked the question, the quick sobering of his facebore witness to his disappointment over not finding his father inthe office. For such was the relationship of the owner of thedepartment store to this new arrival on the scene. And in thepatent chagrin under which the son now labored was to be found acertain indication of character not to be disregarded. Unlikemany a child, he really loved his father. The death of themother years before had left him without other opportunity foraffection in the home, since he had neither brother nor sister.

　　He loved his father with a depth of feeling that made between thetwo a real camaraderie, despite great differences in temperament.

　　In that simple and sincere regard which he bore for his father,the boy revealed a heart ready for love, willing to give ofitself its best for the one beloved. Beyond that, as yet, therewas little to be said of him with exactness. He was a spoiledchild of fortune, if you wish to have it so. Certainly, he wasonly a drone in the world's hive. Thus far, he had enjoyed thegood things of life, without ever doing aught to deserve them bycontributing in return--save by his smiles and his genial air ofhappiness.

　　In the twenty-three years of his life, every gift that moneycould lavish had been his. If the sum total of benefit wassmall, at least there remained the consoling fact that the harmwas even less. Luxury had not sapped the strength of him. Hehad not grown vicious, as have so many of his fellows among thesons of the rich. Some instinct held him aloof from the grosservices. His were the trifling faults that had their originchiefly in the joy of life, which manifest occasionally inriotous extravagancies, of a sort actually to harm none, howeverabsurd and useless they may be.

　　So much one might see by a glance into the face. He was wellgroomed, of course; healthy, all a-tingle with vitality. And inthe clear eyes, which avoided no man's gaze, nor sought anywoman's unseemly, there showed a soul untainted, not yetdeveloped, not yet debased. Through all his days, Dick Gilder hadwalked gladly, in the content that springs to the call of onepossessed of a capacity for enjoyment; possessed, too, of everymeans for the gratification of desire. As yet, the man of himwas unrevealed in its integrity. No test had been put upon him.

　　The fires of suffering had not tried the dross of him. What realworth might lie under this sunny surface the future mustdetermine. There showed now only this one significant fact:

　　that, in the first moment of his return from journeyings abroad,he sought his father with all eagerness, and was sorely grievedbecause the meeting must still be delayed. It was a littlething, perhaps. Yet, it was capable of meaning much concerningthe nature of the lad. It revealed surely a tender heart, oneresponsive to a pure love. And to one of his class, there aremany forces ever present to atrophy such simple, wholesome powerof loving. The ability to love cleanly and absolutely is thesupreme virtue.

　　Sarah explained that Mr. Gilder had been called to the Court ofGeneral Sessions by the judge.

　　Dick interrupted her with a gust of laughter.

　　"What's Dad been doing now?" he demanded, his eyes twinkling.

　　Then, a reminiscent grin shaped itself on his lips. "Rememberthe time that fresh cop arrested him for speeding? Wasn't hewild? I thought he would have the whole police forcedischarged." He smiled again. "The trouble is," he declaredsedately, "that sort of thing requires practice. Now, when I'marrested for speeding, I'm not in the least flustered--oh, not alittle bit! But poor Dad! That one experience of his almostsoured his whole life. It was near the death of him--also, ofthe city's finest."By this time, the secretary had regained her usual poise, whichhad been somewhat disturbed by the irruption of the young man.

　　Her round face shone delightedly as she regarded him. There wasa maternal note of rebuke in her voice as she spoke:

　　"Why, we didn't expect you back for two or three months yet."Once again, Dick laughed, with an infectious gaiety that broughta smile of response to the secretary's lips.

　　"Sadie," he explained confidentially, "don't you dare ever to letthe old man know. He would be all swollen up. It's bad to let aparent swell up. But the truth is, Sadie, I got kind of homesickfor Dad--yes, just that!" He spoke the words with a sort ofshamefaced wonder. It is not easy for an Anglo-Saxon to confessthe realities of affection in vital intimacies. He repeated thephrase in a curiously appreciative hesitation, as one astoundedby his own emotion. "Yes, homesick for Dad!"Then, to cover an excess of sincere feeling, he continued, with aburst of laughter:

　　"Besides, Sadie, I was broke."The secretary sniffed.

　　"The cable would have handled that end of it, I guess," she said,succinctly.

　　There was no word of contradiction from Dick, who, from ampleexperience, knew that any demand for funds would have receivedanswer from the father.

　　"But what is Dad doing in court?" he demanded.

　　Sarah explained the matter with her usual conciseness:

　　"One of the girls was arrested for stealing."The nature of the son was shown then clearly in one of its bestaspects. At once, he exhibited his instinct toward the qualityof mercy, and, too, his trust in the father whom he loved, by hiseager comment.

　　"And Dad went to court to get her out of the scrape. That's justlike the old man!"Sarah, however, showed no hint of enthusiasm. Her mind was everof the prosaic sort, little prone to flights. In that prosaicquality, was to be found the explanation of her dependability asa private secretary. So, now, she merely made a terse statement.

　　"She was tried to-day, and convicted. The judge sent for Mr.

　　Gilder to come down this morning and have a talk with him aboutthe sentence."There was no lessening of the expression of certainty on theyoung man's face. He loved his father, and he trusted where heloved.

　　"It will be all right," he declared, in a tone of entireconviction. "Dad's heart is as big as a barrel. He'll get heroff."Then, of a sudden, Dick gave a violent start. He added aconvincing groan.

　　"Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed, dismally. There was shame in hisvoice. "I forgot all about it!"The secretary regarded him with an expression of amazement.

　　"All about what?" she questioned.

　　Dick assumed an air vastly more confidential than at any timehitherto. He leaned toward the secretary's desk, and spoke witha new seriousness of manner:

　　"Sadie, have you any money? I'm broker My taxi' has been waitingoutside all this time.""Why, yes," the secretary said, cheerfully. "If you will----"Dick was discreet enough to turn his attention to a picture onthe wall opposite while Sarah went through those acrobaticperformances obligatory on women who take no chances of losingmoney by carrying it in purses.

　　"There!" she called after a few panting seconds, and exhibited aflushed face.

　　Dick turned eagerly and seized the banknote offered him.

　　"Mighty much obliged, Sadie," he said, enthusiastically. "But Imust run. Otherwise, this wouldn't be enough for the fare!" And,so saying, he darted out of the room.