As he stood erect, one hand behind his back, the other stretched toward the table in his appeal for silence, I thought for the hundredth time how kind his fifty years had been to him; how tightly knit his figure; how well his clothes became him. A handsome, well-groomed man at all times and in any costume--but never so handsome or so well groomed as in evening dress. Everything in his make-up helped: the broad, square shoulders, arms held close to his side; flat waist; incurving back and narrow hips. His well-modelled, aristocratic head, too, seemed to gain increased distinction when it rose clear from a white shirt-front which served as a kind of marble pedestal for his sculptured head. There was, moreover, in his every move and look, that quality of transparent sincerity which always won him friends at sight. "If men's faces are clocks," Peter always said, "Holker's is fitted with a gla.s.s dial. You can not only see what time it is, but you can see the wheels that move his heart."

He was about to speak now, his eyes roaming the room waiting for the last man to be still. No fumbling of gla.s.ses or rearranging of napkin, but erect, with a certain fearless air that was as much a part of his nature as was his genius. Beginning in a clear, distinct voice which reached every ear in the room, he told them first how welcome they were.

How great an honor it was for him to have them so close to him--so close that he could look into all their faces with one glance; not only those who came from a distance but those of his personal staff, to whom really the success of the year's work had been due. As for himself, he was, as they knew, only the lead horse in the team, going ahead to show them the way, while they did the effective pulling that brought the load to market! Here he slipped his hand in his pocket, took from it a small box which he laid beside his plate, and continued:

"At these festivals, as you know, and if my memory serves me this is our third, it has always been our custom to give some slight token of our appreciation to the man who has done most during the year to further the work of the office. This has always been a difficult thing to decide, because every one of you, without a single exception, has given the best that is in you in the general result. Three years ago, you remember, it was awarded to the man who by common consent had carried to completion, and without a single error, the detailed drawings of the Museum which was finished last year. I am looking at you, Mr. Downey, and again congratulate you. Last year it was awarded to Mr. b.u.t.trick for the masterly way with which he put together the big arches of the Government warehouses--a man whom it would have been my pleasure to congratulate again to-night had it been possible for him to reach us. To-night I think you will all agree with me that this small token, not only of my own, but of your 'personal regard and appreciation'" (here he opened the box and took from it a man's ring set with three jewels), "should be given to the man who has carried out in so thorough a way the part allotted to him in the Corn Exchange, and who is none other than Mr.

Garrison Minott, who for--"

The rest of the sentence was lost in the uproar.

"Garry! Garry! Garry Minott!" came from all parts of the room. "Bully for Garry! You deserve it, old man! Three cheers for Garry Minott!

Hip... Hip...!"

Morris's voice now dominated the room.

"Come this way, Mr. Minott."

The face of the young superintendent, which had been in a broad laugh all the evening, grew white and red by turns. Out of pure astonishment he could neither move nor speak.

"All right--stay where you are!" cried Morris laughing. "Pa.s.s it up to him, please."

John Breen sprang from his chair with the alertness of a man who had been accustomed to follow his impulse. In his joy over his friend's good fortune he forgot his embarra.s.sment, forgot that he was a stranger; forgot that he alone, perhaps, was the only young man in the room whose life and training had not fitted him for the fullest enjoyment of what was pa.s.sing around him; forgot everything, in fact, but that his comrade, his friend, his chum, had won the highest honors his Chief could bestow.

With cheeks aflame he darted to Morris's chair.

"Let me hand it to him, sir," he cried, all the love for his friend in his eyes, seizing the ring and plunging toward Garry, the shouts increasing as he neared his side and placed the prize in his hand. Only then did Minott find his breath and his feet.

"Why, Mr. Morris!--Why, fellows!--Why, there's plenty of men in the office who have done more than I have to--"

Then he sat down, the ring fast in his hand.

When the applause had subside--the young fellow's modesty had caused a fresh outburst--Morris again rose in his chair and once more the room grew still.

"Twelve o'clock, gentlemen," he said. "Mr. Downey, you are always our stand-by in starting the old hymn."

The diners--host and guests alike--rose to their feet as one man. Then to Peter's and my own intense surprise that most impressive of all chants, the Doxology in long metre, surged out, gaining in volume and strength as its strains were caught up by the different voices.

With the ending of the grand old hymn--it had been sung with every mark of respect by every man in the room--John Breen walked back to his chair, leaned toward Peter, and with an apologetic tone in his voice--he had evidently noticed the unfavorable impression that Garry had made on his neighbor--said:

"Don't misjudge Garry, Mr. Grayson; he's the kindest hearted fellow in the world when you know him. He's a little rough sometimes, as you can see, but he doesn't mean it. He thinks his way of talking and acting is what he calls 'up-to-date.'" Then he added with a sigh: "I wish I had a ring like that--one that I had earned. I tell you, Mr. Grayson, THAT'S something worth while."

Peter laid his hand on the young man's shoulder and looked him straight in the face, the same look in his eyes that a proud father would have given a son who had pleased him. He had heard with delight the boy's defence of his friend and he had read the boy's mind as he sang the words of the hymn, his face grave, his whole att.i.tude one of devotion.

"You'd think he was in his father's pew at home," Peter had whispered to me with a smile. It was the latter outburst though--the one that came with a sigh--that stirred him most.

"And you would really have liked a ring yourself, my lad?"

"Would I like it! Why, Mr. Grayson, I'd rather have had Mr. Morris give me a thing like that and DESERVED IT, than have all the money you could pile on this table."

One of those sudden smiles which his friends loved so well irradiated Peter's face.

"Keep on the way you're going, my son," he said, seizing the boy's hand, a slight tremble in his voice, "and you'll get a dozen of them."

"How?" The boy's eyes were wide in wonderment.

"By being yourself. Don't let go of your ideals no matter what Minott or anybody else says. Let him go his way and do you keep on in yours.

Don't... but I can't talk here. Come and see me. I mean it."

Breen's eyes glistened. "When?"

"To-morrow night, at my rooms. Here's my card. And you, too, Mr.

Minott--glad to see both of you." Garry has just joined them.

"Thanks awfully," answered Minott. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Grayson, but I'm booked for a supper at the Magnolia. Lot of the fellows want to whoop up this--" and he held the finger bearing the ring within an inch of Peter's nose. "And they want you, too, Jack."

"No, please let me have him," Peter urged. Minott, I could see, he did not want; Breen he was determined to have.

"I would love to come, sir, and it's very kind of you to ask me. There's to be a dance at my uncle's tomorrow night, though I reckon I can be excused. Would you--would you come to see me instead? I want you to see my father's portrait. It's not you, and yet it's like you when you turn your head; and there are some other things. I'd like--" Here the boy stopped.

Peter considered for a moment. Calling at the house of a man he did not know, even to continue the acquaintance of so charming a young fellow as his nephew, was not one of the things punctilious Mr.

Grayson--punctilious as to forms of etiquette--was accustomed to do. The young man read his thoughts and added quickly:

"Of course I'll do just as you say, but if you only would come we will be entirely alone and won't see anybody else in the house."

"But couldn't you possibly come to me?" Peter urged. The fact that young Breen had a suite of rooms so sequestered as to be beyond the reach even of a dance, altered the situation to some extent, but he was still undecided. "I live all alone when my sister is not with me, and I, too, have many things I am sure would interest you. Say you'll come now--I shall expect you, shall I not?"

The boy hesitated. "You may not know exactly what I mean," he said slowly. "Maybe you can't understand, for everybody about here seems to love you, and you must have lots of friends. The fact is, I feel out of everything. I get pretty lonely sometimes. Garry, here, never stays five minutes when he comes to see me, so many people are after him all the time. Please say you'll come!"

There was a note in the boy's voice that swept away all the older man's scruples.

"Come, my son! Of course I'll come," burst out Peter. "I'll be there at nine o'clock."

As Morris and the others pa.s.sed between the table and the wall on their way to the cloak-room, Minott, who had listened to the whole conversation, waited until he thought Peter had gone ahead, and then, with an impatient gesture, said:

"What the devil, Jack, do you want to waste your time over an old fellow like that for?"

"Oh, Garry, don't--"

"Don't! A bald-headed old pill who ought to have--"

Then the two pa.s.sed out of hearing.

CHAPTER IV

Breakfast--any meal for that matter--in the high-wainscoted, dark-as-a-pocket dining-room of the successful Wall Street broker--the senior member of the firm of A. Breen & Co., uncle, guardian and employer of the fresh, rosy-cheeked lad who sat next to Peter on the night of Morris's dinner, was never a joyous function.