Within the Law | Page 7

person of that slender elegance which always

characterized her favorite heroines in the novels she affected. On the
contrary, she was of a sort to have gratified Byron, who declared that a
woman in her maturity should be plump. Now, she recalled with a
twinge of envy that the accused 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 was the
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. You see, they put
her in my department when she first came here to work. She was a
good saleswoman, as saleswomen go. For the matter of that," he added
with a sudden access of energy, "she was the last girl in the world I'd
take for a thief." He displayed some evidences of embarrassment over
the honest feeling into which he had been betrayed, and made haste to
recover his usual business manner, as he continued formally. "Will you
please let me know when Mr. Gilder arrives? There are one or two little
matters I wish to discuss with him."
"All right!" Sarah agreed briskly, and she hurried on toward the private
office.
The secretary was barely seated at her desk when the violent opening of
the door startled her, and, as she looked up, a cheery voice cried out:
"Hello, Dad!"
At the same moment, a young man entered, with an air of care-free
assurance, his face radiant. But, as his glance went to the empty
arm-chair at the desk, he halted abruptly, and his expression changed to
one of disappointment.
"Not here!" he grumbled. Then, once again the smile was on his lips as
his eyes fell on the secretary, who had now risen to her feet in a flutter
of excitement.

"Why, Mr. Dick!" Sarah gasped.
"Hello, Sadie!" came the genial salutation. The young man advanced
and shook hands with her warmly. "I'm home again. Where's Dad?"
Even as he asked the question, the quick sobering of his face bore
witness to his disappointment over not finding his father in the office.
For such was the relationship of the owner of the department store to
this new arrival on the scene. And in the patent chagrin under which the
son now labored was to be found a certain indication of character not to
be disregarded. Unlike many a child, he really loved his father. The
death of the mother years before had left him without other opportunity
for affection in the home, since he had neither brother nor sister. He
loved his father with a depth of feeling that made between the two 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 of itself its best for the one
beloved. Beyond that, as yet, there was little to be said of him with
exactness. He was a spoiled child of fortune, if you wish to have it so.
Certainly, he was only a drone in the world's hive. Thus far, he had
enjoyed the good things of life, without ever doing aught to deserve
them by contributing in return--save by his smiles and his genial air of
happiness.
In the twenty-three years of his life, every gift that money could lavish
had been his. If the sum total of benefit was small, at least there
remained the consoling fact that the harm was even less. Luxury had
not sapped the strength of him. He had not grown vicious, as have so
many of his fellows among the sons of the rich. Some instinct held him
aloof from the grosser vices. His were the trifling faults that had their
origin chiefly in the joy of life, which manifest occasionally in riotous
extravagancies, of a sort actually to harm none, however absurd and
useless they may be.
So much one might see by a glance into the face. He was well groomed,
of course; healthy, all a-tingle with vitality. And in the clear eyes,
which avoided no man's gaze, nor sought any woman's unseemly, there
showed a soul untainted, not yet developed, not yet debased. Through

all his days, Dick Gilder had walked gladly, in the content that springs
to the call of one possessed of a capacity for enjoyment; possessed, too,
of every means for the gratification of desire. As yet, the man of him
was unrevealed in its integrity. No test had been put upon him. The
fires of suffering had not tried the dross of him. What real worth might
lie under this sunny surface the future