“You are free to rid yourself of all association with the firm,” was Mr. Denton’s only answer.  “I will buy you out at your own figure, Mr. Day; or, as I said before, I will end the thing at once.  I will apply at once to have a receiver appointed.”

“But I don’t wish to be bought out, and I don’t wish to dissolve partnership.  This store is making a fortune for us all.  I would be a fool to throw over such a magnificent investment!”

  “It profiteth nothing, and fearful the cost,
  To gain the whole world if thy soul shall be lost!”

Mr. Denton quoted the words soberly, almost reverently.  As he did so a vision of Faith Marvin rose suddenly before him.

“Pshaw!  You have lost your senses, Denton!” cried Mr. Day.  “Am I to be scared into idiocy by the words of some fanatic?”

“You have said nothing, Mr. Forbes,” said Mr. Denton, turning from Mr. Day quietly.

“I have nothing to say,” remarked Mr. Forbes, gruffly.  “It is as Mr. Day says; you have lost your senses.”

Mr. Denton sighed heavily.  He was a little disappointed.

“You can talk the matter over by yourselves,” he said, finally, “and remember, I stand ready to deal fairly by my partners.  My loss, if I have one, need not be theirs; you have only to state a willingness to comply or settle.”

He walked out of the office, closing the door behind him.  A second later he had arrived at the door of his own office.

“Please, sir, may I see you a minute, sir?” asked a voice just behind him.

He turned and recognized Sam Watkins, the boy who had stolen the five hundred dollars.

“Come in, Sam,” he said, kindly.  The child looked at him in surprise.  The moment the door closed behind him he burst out crying.

“Come, come, boy, don’t cry!  I won’t scold you,” said Mr. Denton, smiling.

He took Sam’s hand in his own and patted it encouragingly.

“I couldn’t help it, sir; indeed, I couldn’t!” he blurted out.  “Poor ma was so sick and needed money so dreadful!”

“So you took it for your mother,” said Mr. Denton.  “Now, tell me the truth, Sam; what did you do with the other three hundred dollars?”

Sam Watkins looked up into the gentleman’s face.  His eyes were red from weeping, but they did not waver.

“I lost it, sir,” he said, simply.  “It was in my coat pocket.  You see, I divided the wad, sir, so it wouldn’t look so bulky!”

“And did your mother scold you?” asked Mr. Denton, still smiling.

The boy’s glance fell to the floor and he shifted his feet uneasily.

“No, sir, she didn’t scold—­that is, not exactly,” he said, sniffing.  “She just talked to me, sir, and then she cried something awful!”

Mr. Denton turned his head away for about a minute.  There was something in the boy’s story that affected him strangely.  The poor woman had wept because her boy had stolen some money, yet rich men smiled complacently over what they called “good bargains,” but which in reality were little more than thieving.