s much ashamed of
himself as if he had kicked his father.

"I oughtn't to have told you, I know," he stammered. "Anyhow, not like
this. I'm sorry."

Peter senior gathered himself together and feebly bluffed.

"You needn't be sorry," he blustered in a thin voice at the top of his
throat. "What do I care whether _you_ know or not? There's no disgrace
in looking after my own business, I guess! To please Ena, I've made a
sort of secret of it, that's all. I never 'promised.' I only let her
and other folks it didn't concern suppose I lived in idleness, like
the lords they admire so much. No harm in that! As for you, you're
welcome to know what I do with my time when I go to New York. But it's
none of your business, all the same, and you'd better keep still about
it, or you'll regret your meddling. Who told you? That's what I want
to get at. Who stuffed you up to the neck with all that damned
nonsense about 'sweat and tears?' I bet it's the same man who tried to
blackmail me with my own son about my going to the Hands nights."

"It wasn't a man who told me," said Peter, "it was a woman--or,
rather, a girl. It was _me_ she was blaming, not you. She thought I
was responsible for the wrongs she and other employees suffer from.
She didn't know it was a secret, your visiting the place. She simply
mentioned it as a fact---"

"And you, a son of mine, stood quietly listening to abuse of your
father and the house that's made his fortune--his fortune and
yours--from a pert young clerk in his store!"

At last Peter senior could speak with the voice of injured virtue. He
could reach Peter junior with the well-deserved lash of reproach. But
no! The lash striking out, touched air.

"Father, I listened because I love the girl," Peter answered "Wait,
please! Let me explain. I fell in love with her on the _Monarchic_.
Then something happened and I lost sight of her. Yesterday I found her
at the Hands. I wanted to talk to her about love, but she made me
listen to her instead. She said sharp things about the store that cut
like knives. Don't think I'm accusing you if the Hands _is_ a
sweatshop. You trust Croft, and he's abused his trust. That must be
it. For God's sake, give me a chance to help you put things straight."

For a moment--a long moment--Peter senior did not speak, and Peter
junior would have given much to know where his thoughts had gone. They
were away somewhere--with the Hands or with the girl who had made
Petro listen.