ere is the list, and I shall be much obliged if you
will verify it before I go back."

"Sit down." said Mr. Flint.

Austen sat down, with the corner of the desk between them, while Mr.
Flint opened the boxes and began checking off the papers on the list.

"How is your father this afternoon?" he asked, without looking up.

"As well as can be expected," said Austen.

"Of course nobody knew his condition but himself," Mr. Flint continued;
"but it was a great shock to me--when he resigned as my counsel three
days ago."

Austen laid his forearm on the desk, and his hand closed.

"He resigned three days ago?" he exclaimed.

Mr. Flint was surprised, but concealed it.

"I can understand, under the circumstances, how he has overlooked
telling you. His resignation takes effect to-day."

Austen was silent a moment, while he strove to apply this fact to his
father's actions.

"He waited until after the convention."

"Exactly," said Mr. Flint, catching the implied accusation in Austen's
tone; "and needless to say, if I had been able to prevent his going,
in view of what happened on Monday night, I should have done so. As you
know, after his--accident, he went to the capital without informing any
one."

"As a matter of honour," said Austen.

Mr. Flint looked up from the papers, and regarded him narrowly, for
the tone in which this was spoken did not escape the president of the
Northeastern. He saw, in fact, that at the outset he had put a weapon
into Austen's hands. Hilary's resignation was a vindication of Austen's
attitude, an acknowledgment that the business and political practices of
his life had been wrong.

What Austen really felt, when he had grasped the significance of that
fact, was relief--gratitude. A wave of renewed affection for his father
swept over him, of affection and pity and admiration, and for the
instant he forgot Mr. Flint.

"As a matter of honour," Mr. Flint repeated. "Knowing he was ill, Mr.
Vane insisted upon going to that convention, even at the risk of his
life. It is a fitting close to a splendid career, and one that will not
soon be forgotten."

Austen merely looked at Mr. Flint, who may have found the glance a
trifle disconcerting, for he turned to the papers again.

"I repeat," he went on presently, "that this illness of Mr. Vane's is
not only a great loss to the Northeastern system, but a great blow to
me personally. I have been associated with him closely for more than
a quarte