y such proximity he must grow kind and
understanding.

"Richard," said the capitalist, "there's trouble threatened in the
foreign section of the mills."

"Trouble?" Richard Procter's head went up.

"Yes, the men are dissatisfied, surly. It's the one department where
your touch hasn't been felt. I want you to go there on Monday and begin
your work."

"I'll be ready," said Richard Procter. Strength and purpose seemed to
flow back to him.

The Eagle Man turned as though to go, but he paused at the door to look
again at Suzanna.

"And so your father's been telling you that he has failed, that his
machine refused to work in the final test we gave it at the mills."

"My father hasn't failed," Suzanna said proudly.

"No, he hasn't failed," the Eagle Man agreed. "He hasn't failed. He's
the most brilliant success I know. He built into a piece of machinery
his ideals, and when the machine was finished he saw in his experiments
with it on those in his home ultimate triumph. But when it was taken to
my mills the machine failed to register color in personalities whose
chief talent by years of wrong work had been nearly strangled."

Mr. Procter spoke: "It shouldn't have failed even there. It did
register, if you remember your color and Mr. Bartlett's, and both of you
had pulled far away from your purpose."

"Yes, for some reason, it did register us," agreed the Eagle Man. He
paused, and then his voice rang out. "Let me tell you all something that
the inventor of that machine did, some miracle he brought to pass I
should have thought impossible. He awakened old ideals in a hard old
breast, he made hard old eyes see in men, not automatons born only to
add to his wealth, but human beings to be rendered happy in their work."

"Was yours the hard old breast, Eagle Man?" Suzanna asked.

"Yes, Suzanna. A result like that is worth while, eh, Richard?"

Mr. Procter did not answer, could not, because he feared at the moment
that he could not speak intelligently.

The Eagle Man turned to the wife, adoringly silent as she listened.

"Three men Richard Procter brought to me on his first day in my mills.
He said: 'These men have ambitions, they are greatly talented. You must
give them their chance.'"

"And what did you say?" asked Mrs. Procter softly.

"Oh, I snarled as usual, but that was really the work I wanted him to
do. I wanted him to do in the circumscribed field of my mills that which
he had built his machine to do. An