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ry. Here was a man who, in the act of giving him a friendly warning, had been felled by a brutal and unexpected blow. A hot blush of shame reddened his cheeks. He was about to speak but was interrupted by the voice of his father. The old man seemed suddenly to have aged. His fine features, always pallid, appeared a shade paler. Gone was the arrogant poise of the head which for forty years had dominated boards of directors. The square-set shoulders drooped wearily, and in the eyes was the tired, dumb look of a beaten man. "Officer, it seems hardly necessary for me to express my thanks for the consideration you have shown in coming directly to me with this matter," he said at last. "Had you been so inclined you could have stirred up a nasty mess of it, and no one would have blamed you." He stepped to a small table and, seating himself, produced check-book and pen. "I trust this will reimburse you for any financial loss you may have incurred by reason of this most unfortunate affair," he went on; "and as for the rest, leave that to me. I have, I believe, some little influence at headquarters, and I shall personally call upon the inspector." The officer glanced at the slip of paper which the other thrust into his hand. It was written in four figures. He looked up. Something in the old man's attitude--the unspoken pain in the eyes--the pathetic droop of the shoulders, struck a responsive chord in the heart of the officer. Impulsively he extended the hand in which the check remained unfolded. "Here, Mr. Carmody, I can't take your money. You didn't get me right. I start out to knife you for what I can get, an' you wind up by treatin' me white. It wasn't your fault, nohow, an' I didn't know how you felt about--things." There may have been just the shadow of a smile at the corners of Hiram Carmody's mouth as he waved a dismissal. "We will consider the incident closed," he said. At the door the officer turned to the younger man, who had been a silent listener. "It's a pity to waste yourself that way. It's a punk game, kid, take it from me--they don't last! Where's your Broadway Bills of ten years ago? Stop an' think, kid. Where are they at?" "My God," he muttered, as he passed down the broad stairway, "how many old fathers in New York is hidin' their feelin's behind a bold front, an' at the same time eatin' their hearts out with worry for their boys! An' folks callin' _them_ good fellows! "Money ain
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