“How much do they get apiece for these?” questioned Mr. Denton again, as he picked up a garment and held it at arm’s length to inspect it.

“Oh, about forty cents, I guess; and they can make two in a day.  There’s a good deal of work on them,” was the buyer’s answer.

“What do they cost us?”

The question was asked rather sharply.

Mr. Smith consulted his notebook before he answered.

“Fifty cents in gross lots, and sixty by the dozen.  We use a great many; it will ruin Goldberg to lose us.”

“And what do we get for them?”

Mr. Denton was reaching for the price tag now.  His brow was almost black as he asked the question.

Mr. Smith looked at him anxiously—­he could not quite comprehend him.

“Two dollars, sir,” he answered, smiling—­“and they sell like hot cakes.  It’s the grade of goods that yields us the best profit.”

Mr. Denton dropped the garment with a look of horror in his face.

“Take the things away,” he said shortly, “and, see here, Smith, don’t order any more goods from any of those ‘sweat-shops!’ I won’t have another dollar’s worth of them in the building!”

The buyer looked amazed, while Mr. Day turned almost purple.

“We make an average of three hundred per cent on every garment, and we have contracts with some ‘sweat-shops’ or other for a dozen grades of clothing!”

“We’ll buy them off them at a good round sum; then you hear what I say—­no more ‘sweat-shops,’ Mr. Smith!” was the calm reply.

The buyer bundled up his goods and hurried out of the office.  His employer’s decision nearly took his breath away.

“Are you crazy, Denton?” cried Mr. Day, as soon as the door was closed.  “Is it possible that you have lost your senses completely?”

“On the contrary, Mr. Day,” was the serious answer.  “The truth is, I have only just come to my senses.”

He went over and put his finger on an electric button.

“Tell Mr. Forbes to come in here,” he said to the boy who answered, then he drew three chairs close together, and sat down in one of them.

When Mr. Forbes entered the office it was very plain that he was angry.  His features were darkened by a frown that was, to say the least, forbidding.  Without even noticing his expression Mr. Denton offered him a chair and then started in to make some astonishing statements.

“Gentlemen,” he said, distinctly, “I have a confession to make.  I have already made it to my God, and to my family; it is now fitting and necessary that I make it to my partners.  To be as brief as possible, my confession is this:  While I have succeeded admirably in laying up treasure on earth, I have woefully failed in laying up treasure in heaven.  While I have done my duty from a worldly point of view, by my wife and family, I have been persistently injuring many hundreds of my fellow beings, and showing no consideration whatever for their moral