Jefferson, during all these weeks, was growing more and more impatient.  He knew that any day now Shirley might take her departure from their house and return to Massapequa.  If the impeachment proceedings went against her father it was more than likely that he would lose her forever, and if, on the contrary, the judge were acquitted, Shirley never would be willing to marry him without his father’s consent; and this, he felt, he would never obtain.  He resolved, therefore, to have a final interview with his father and declare boldly his intention of making Miss Rossmore his wife, regardless of the consequences.

The opportunity came one evening after dinner.  Ryder, Sr. was sitting alone in the library, reading, Mrs. Ryder had gone to the theatre with a friend, Shirley as usual was writing in her room, giving the final touches to her now completed “History of the Empire Trading Company.”  Jefferson took the bull by the horns and boldly accosted his redoubtable parent.

“May I have a few minutes of your time, father?”

Ryder, Sr. laid aside the paper he was reading and looked up.  It was unusual for his son to come to him on any errand, and he liked to encourage it.

“Certainly, Jefferson.  What is it?”

“I want to appeal to you, sir.  I want you to use your influence, before it is too late, to save Judge Rossmore.  A word from you at this time would do wonders in Washington.”

The financier swung half-round in his chair, the smile of greeting faded out of his face, and his voice was hard as he replied coldly: 

“Again?  I thought we had agreed not to discuss Judge Rossmore any further?”

“I can’t help it, sir,” rejoined Jefferson undeterred by his sire’s hostile attitude, “that poor old man is practically on trial for his life.  He is as innocent of wrongdoing as a child unborn, and you know it.  You could save him if you would.”

“Jefferson,” answered Ryder, Sr., biting his lip to restrain his impatience, “I told you before that I could not interfere even if I would; and I won’t, because that man is my enemy.  Important business interests, which you cannot possibly know anything about, demand his dismissal from the bench.”

“Surely your business interests don’t demand the sacrifice of a man’s life!” retorted Jefferson.  “I know modern business methods are none too squeamish, but I should think you’d draw the line at deliberate murder!”

Ryder sprang to his feet and for a moment stood glaring at the young man.  His lips moved, but no sound came from them.  Suppressed wrath rendered him speechless.  What was the world coming to when a son could talk to his father in this manner?

“How dare you presume to judge my actions or to criticise my methods?” he burst out, finally.