"And I'm glad to be home, Dad, to be"--there was again that clearing of the throat, but he finished bravely--"with you."

The father avoided a threatening display of emotion by an abrupt change of subject to the trite.

"Have a good time?" he inquired casually, while fumbling with the papers on the desk.

d.i.c.k's face broke in a smile of reminiscent happiness.

"The time of my young life!" He paused, and the smile broadened. There was a mighty enthusiasm in his voice as he continued: "I tell you, Dad, it's a fact that I did almost break the bank at Monte Carlo. I'd have done it sure, if only my money had held out."

"It seems to me that I've heard something of the sort before," was Gilder's caustic comment. But his smile was still wholly sympathetic. He took a curious vicarious delight in the escapades of his son, probably because he himself had committed no follies in his callow days. "Why didn't you cable me?" he asked, puzzled at such restraint on the part of his son.

d.i.c.k answered with simple sincerity.

"Because it gave me a capital excuse for coming home."

It was Sarah who afforded a diversion. She had known d.i.c.k while he was yet a child, had bought him candy, had felt toward him a maternal liking that increased rather than diminished as he grew to manhood. Now, her face lighted at sight of him, and she smiled a welcome.

"I see you have found him," she said, with a ripple of laughter.

d.i.c.k welcomed this interruption of the graver mood.

"Sadie," he said, with a manner of the utmost seriousness, "you are looking finer than ever. And how thin you have grown!"

The girl, eager with fond fancies toward the slender ideal, accepted the compliment literally.

"Oh, Mr. d.i.c.k!" she exclaimed, rapturously. "How much do you think I have lost?"

The whimsical heir of the house of Gilder surveyed his victim critically, then spoke with judicial solemnity.

"About two ounces, Sadie."

There came a look of deep hurt on Sadie's face at the flippant jest, which d.i.c.k himself was quick to note.

He had not guessed she was thus acutely sensitive concerning her plumpness. Instantly, he was all contrition over his unwitting offense inflicted on her womanly vanity.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sadie," he exclaimed penitently. "Please don't be really angry with me. Of course, I didn't mean----"

"To twit on facts!" the secretary interrupted, bitterly.

"Pooh!" d.i.c.k cried, craftily. "You aren't plump enough to be sensitive about it. Why, you're just right." There was something very boyish about his manner, as he caught at the girl's arm. A memory of the days when she had cuddled him caused him to speak warmly, forgetting the presence of his father. "Now, don't be angry, Sadie. Just give me a little kiss, as you used to do." He swept her into his arms, and his lips met hers in a hearty caress. "There!" he cried. "Just to show there's no ill feeling."

The girl was completely mollified, though in much embarra.s.sment.

"Why, Mr. d.i.c.k!" she stammered, in confusion. "Why, Mr. d.i.c.k!"

Gilder, who had watched the scene in great astonishment, now interposed to end it.

"Stop, d.i.c.k!" he commanded, crisply. "You are actually making Sarah blush. I think that's about enough, son."

But a sudden unaccustomed gust of affection swirled in the breast of the lad. Plain Anglo-Saxon as he was, with all that implies as to the avoidance of displays of emotion, nevertheless he had been for a long time in lands far from home, where the habits of impulsive and affectionate peoples were radically unlike our own austerer forms. So now, under the spur of an impulse suggested by the dalliance with the buxom secretary, he grinned widely and went to his father.

"A little kiss never hurts any one," he declared, blithely. Then he added vivaciously: "Here, I'll show you!"

With the words, he clasped his arms around his father's neck, and, before that amazed gentleman could understand his purpose, he had kissed soundly first the one cheek and then the other, each with a hearty, wholesome smack of filial piety. This done, he stood back, still beaming happily, while the astounded Sarah t.i.ttered bewilderedly. For his own part, d.i.c.k was quite unashamed. He loved his father. For once, he had expressed that fondness in a primitive fashion, and he was glad.

The older man withdrew a step, and there rested motionless, under the sway of an emotion akin to dismay. He stood staring intently at his son with a perplexity in his expression that was almost ludicrous. When, at last, he spoke, his voice was a rumble of strangely shy pleasure.

"G.o.d bless my soul!" he exclaimed, violently. Then he raised a hand, and rubbed first one cheek, and after it its fellow, with a gentleness that was significant. The feeling provoked by the embrace showed plainly in his next words. "Why, that's the first time you have kissed me, d.i.c.k, since you were a little boy. G.o.d bless my soul!" he repeated. And now there was a note of jubilation.

The son, somewhat disturbed by this emotion he had aroused, nevertheless answered frankly with the expression of his own feeling, as he advanced and laid a hand on his father's shoulder.

"The fact is, Dad," he said quietly, with a smile that was good to see, "I am awfully glad to see you again."

"Are you, son?" the father cried happily. Then, abruptly his manner changed, for he felt himself perilously close to the maudlin in this new yielding to sentimentality. Such kisses of tenderness, however agreeable in themselves, were hardly fitting to one of his dignity. "You clear out of here, boy," he commanded, brusquely. "I'm a working man. But here, wait a minute," he added. He brought forth from a pocket a neat sheaf of banknotes, which he held out. "There's carfare for you," he said with a chuckle. "And now clear out. I'll see you at dinner."

d.i.c.k bestowed the money in his pocket, and again turned toward the door.

"You can always get rid of me on the same terms," he remarked slyly. And then the young man gave evidence that he, too, had some of his father's ability in things financial. For, in the doorway he turned with a final speech, which was uttered in splendid disregard for the packet of money he had just received--perhaps, rather, in a splendid regard for it. "Oh, Dad, please don't forget to give Sadie that five dollars I borrowed from her for the taxi'." And with that impertinent reminder he was gone.

The owner of the store returned to his labors with a new zest, for the meeting with his son had put him in high spirits. Perhaps it might have been better for Mary Turner had she come to him just then, while he was yet in this softened mood. But fate had ordained that other events should restore him to his usual harder self before their interview. The effect was, indeed, presently accomplished by the advent of Smithson into the office. He entered with an expression of discomfiture on his rather vacuous countenance. He walked almost nimbly to the desk and spoke with evident distress, as his employer looked up interrogatively.

"McCracken has detained--er--a--lady, sir," he said, feebly. "She has been searched, and we have found about a hundred dollars worth of laces on her."

"Well?" Gilder demanded, impatiently. Such affairs were too common in the store to make necessary this intrusion of the matter on him. "Why did you come to me about it?" His staff knew just what to do with shoplifters.

At once, Smithson became apologetic, while refusing to retreat.

"I'm very sorry, sir," he said haltingly, "but I thought it wiser, sir, to--er--to bring the matter to your personal attention."

"Quite unnecessary, Smithson," Gilder returned, with asperity. "You know my views on the subject of property. Tell McCracken to have the thief arrested."

Smithson cleared his throat doubtfully, and in his stress of feeling he even relaxed a trifle that majestical erectness of carriage that had made him so valuable as a floor-walker.

"She's not exactly a--er--a thief," he ventured.

"You are trifling, Smithson," the owner of the store exclaimed, in high exasperation. "Not a thief! And you caught her with a hundred dollars worth of laces that she hadn't bought. Not a thief! What in heaven's name do you call her, then?"

"A kleptomaniac," Smithson explained, retaining his manner of mild insistence. "You see, sir, it's this way. The lady happens to be the wife of J. W. Gaskell, the banker, you know."

Yes, Gilder did know. The mention of the name was like a spell in the effect it wrought on the att.i.tude of the irritated owner of the store.

Instantly, his expression changed. While before his features had been set grimly, while his eyes had flashed wrathfully, there was now only annoyance over an event markedly unfortunate.

"How extremely awkward!" he cried; and there was a very real concern in his voice. He regarded Smithson kindly, whereat that rather puling gentleman once again a.s.sumed his martial bearing. "You were quite right in coming to me." For a moment he was silent, plunged in thought.

Finally he spoke with the decisiveness characteristic of him. "Of course, there's nothing we can do. Just put the stuff back on the counter, and let her go."

But Smithson had not yet wholly unburdened himself. Instead of immediately leaving the room in pursuance of the succinct instructions given him, he again cleared his throat nervously, and made known a further aggravating factor in the situation.

"She's very angry, Mr. Gilder," he announced, timidly. "She--er--she demands an--er--an apology."