He paced the floor of his library long after his wife and son were in bed, but the next morning at breakfast he told them his decision.

Mrs. Denton was a vain woman, who thought of little but the fashions, and whose time was nearly always taken up with what she termed her “social obligations.”

Her husband’s serious words had the effect of frightening her badly.  She looked at him anxiously, as though she feared he had gone crazy.

With young Denton it was different.  He was thoroughly astonished and amazed.  It was the first time in his life that he had ever heard a word from his father’s lips that was not freighted with the so-called wisdom of worldliness.

“I have been blind to my duties and opportunities at the store,” said Mr. Denton, in conclusion.  “I have been too much occupied with the making and saving of money to bestow a thought upon the higher duties that lay directly in my path—­the aiding and protecting of my fellow beings.”

“Well, you’ll have your hands full, dad, if you help them all,” said young Denton when he had recovered a little from his surprise.  “I think you ought to do many things differently, of course, but you’ll bankrupt yourself if you shoulder all their burdens.”

His father did not answer.  He was thinking seriously.  An hour later he was at the field of action, filled with the righteous determination to do his duty.

Mr. Day sat in his office when his partner entered.  He was busy with one of the “buyers,” so Mr. Denton stood still and listened.

A large pile of “ready-made” garments lay upon a convenient table, and as the buyer talked, he held them up for examination.

“I find I can get this grade of goods from a man named Finckelstein for ten cents less per garment than I have been getting them from Goldberg.  They are very well made, and the quality is satisfactory.  No one will ever guess that they are not exactly what we advertise.  I ordered this lot for closer inspection.  If they are satisfactory to you, sir, I will give him a stock order.”

Mr. Day mused a little before he replied.  Meanwhile he was fingering the garments in a critical manner.

“Umph!  Isn’t there a peculiar odor about these garments, Smith?” he asked, after a minute.  “I am sure there is!  Really, I wish you hadn’t brought them in here!”

“I will take them away immediately, sir,” said the buyer, apologetically.  “They were made in a ‘sweatshop,’ you see, so it is quite possible they are permeated with unpleasant odors, but I will have them aired before they are put on the counters.”

“Are you sure they are not permeated with disease?” asked Mr. Denton, suddenly.  “I am told that those ‘sweat-shops’ are disgustingly dirty places.”

“Oh, the Board of Health looks after that,” said the buyer quickly, “and, besides, I saw a good many of Finckelstein’s hands—­they were mostly clean, respectable looking women.”