Chapter 3

When, at last, the owner of the store entered the office, his face
showed extreme irritation. He did not vouchsafe any greeting to the
secretary, who regarded him with an accurate perception of his mood.
With a diplomacy born of long experience, in her first speech Sarah
afforded an agreeable diversion to her employer's line of thought.

“Mr. Hastings, of the Empire store, called you up, Mr. Gilder, and asked
me to let him know when you returned. Shall I get him on the wire?”

The man's face lightened instantly, and there was even the beginning of
a smile on his lips as he seated himself at the great mahogany desk.

“Yes, yes!” he exclaimed, with evident enthusiasm. The smile grew in
the short interval before the connection was made. When, finally,
he addressed his friend over the telephone, his tones were of the
cheerfulest.

“Oh, good morning. Yes, certainly. Four will suit me admirably....
Sunday? Yes, if you like. We can go out after church, and have luncheon
at the country club.” After listening a moment, he laughed in a pleased
fashion that had in it a suggestion of conscious superiority. “My dear
fellow,” he declared briskly, “you couldn't beat me in a thousand years.
Why, I made the eighteen holes in ninety-two only last week.” He laughed
again at the answer over the wire, then hung up the receiver and pushed
the telephone aside, as he turned his attention to the papers neatly
arranged on the desk ready to his hand.

The curiosity of the secretary could not be longer delayed.

“What did they do with the Turner girl?” she inquired in an elaborately
casual manner.

Gilder did not look up from the heap of papers, but answered rather
harshly, while once again his expression grew forbidding.

“I don't know--I couldn't wait,” he said. He made a petulant gesture as
he went on: “I don't see why Judge Lawlor bothered me about the matter.
He is the one to impose sentence, not I. I am hours behind with my work
now.”

For a few minutes he gave himself up to the routine of business,
distributing the correspondence and other various papers for the action
of subordinates, and speaking his orders occasionally to the attentive
secretary with a quickness and precision that proclaimed the capable
executive. The observer would have realized at once that here was a
man obviously fitted to the control of large affairs. The ability that
marches inevitably to success showed unmistakably in the face and form,
and in the fashion of speech. Edward Gilder was a big man physically,
plainly the possessor of that abundant vital energy which is a prime
requisite for achievement in the ordering of modern business concerns.
Force was, indeed, the dominant quality of the man. His tall figure was
proportionately broad, and he was heavily fleshed. In fact, the body was
too ponderous. Perhaps, in that characteristic might be found a clue
to the chief fault in his nature. For he was ponderous, spiritually and
mentally, as well as materially. The fact was displayed suggestively in
the face, which was too heavy with its prominent jowls and aggressive
chin and rather bulbous nose. But there was nothing flabby anywhere.
The ample features showed no trace of weakness, only a rude, abounding
strength. There was no lighter touch anywhere. Evidently a just man
according to his own ideas, yet never one to temper justice with mercy.
He appeared, and was, a very practical and most prosaic business man. He
was not given to a humorous outlook on life. He took it and himself with
the utmost seriousness. He was almost entirely lacking in imagination,
that faculty which is essential to sympathy.

“Take this,” he directed presently, when he had disposed of the matters
before him. Forthwith, he dictated the following letter, and now his
voice took on a more unctuous note, as of one who is appreciative of his
own excellent generosity.

“THE EDITOR,

“The New York Herald.

“DEAR SIR: Inclosed please find my check for a thousand dollars for your
free-ice fund. It is going to be a very hard summer for the poor, and
I hope by thus starting the contributions for your fine charity at
this early day that you will be able to accomplish even more good than
usually.

“Very truly yours.”

He turned an inquiring glance toward Sarah.

“That's what I usually give, isn't it?”

The secretary nodded energetically.

“Yes,” she agreed in her brisk manner, “that's what you have given every
year for the last ten years.”

The statement impressed Gilder pleasantly. His voice was more mellow as
he made comment. His heavy face was radiant, and he smiled complacently.

“Ten thousand dollars to this one charity alone!” he exclaimed. “Well,
it is pleasant to be able to help those less fortunate than ourselves.”
He paused, evidently expectant of laudatory corroboration from the
secretary.

But Sarah, though she could be tactful enough on occasion, did not
choose to meet her employer's anticipations just now. For that matter,
her intimate services permitted on her part some degree of familiarity
with the august head of the establishment. Besides, she did not stand in
awe of Gilder, as did the others in his service. No man is a hero to
his valet, or to his secretary. Intimate association is hostile to
hero-worship. So, now, Sarah spoke nonchalantly, to the indignation of
the philanthropist:

“Oh, yes, sir. Specially when you make so much that you don't miss it.”

Gilder's thick gray brows drew down in a frown of displeasure, while his
eyes opened slightly in sheer surprise over the secretary's unexpected
remark. He hesitated for only an instant before replying with an air
of great dignity, in which was a distinct note of rebuke for the girl's
presumption.

“The profits from my store are large, I admit, Sarah. But I neither
smuggle my goods, take rebates from railroads, conspire against small
competitors, nor do any of the dishonest acts that disgrace other
lines of business. So long as I make my profits honestly, I am honestly
entitled to them, no matter how big they are.”

The secretary, being quite content with the havoc she had wrought in her
employer's complacency over his charitableness, nodded, and contented
herself with a demure assent to his outburst.

“Yes, sir,” she agreed, very meekly.

Gilder stared at her for a few seconds, somewhat indignantly. Then,
he bethought himself of a subtle form of rebuke by emphasizing his
generosity.

“Have the cashier send my usual five hundred to the Charities
Organization Society,” he ordered. With this new evidence of his
generous virtue, the frown passed from his brows. If, for a fleeting
moment, doubt had assailed him under the spur of the secretary's words,
that doubt had now vanished under his habitual conviction as to his
sterling worth to the world at large.

It was, therefore, with his accustomed blandness of manner that he
presently acknowledged the greeting of George Demarest, the chief of the
legal staff that looked after the firm's affairs. He was aware without
being told that the lawyer had called to acquaint him with the issue in
the trial of Mary Turner.

“Well, Demarest?” he inquired, as the dapper attorney advanced into the
room at a rapid pace, and came to a halt facing the desk, after a lively
nod in the direction of the secretary.

The lawyer's face sobered, and his tone as he answered was tinged with
constraint.

“Judge Lawlor gave her three years,” he replied, gravely. It was plain
from his manner that he did not altogether approve.

But Gilder was unaffected by the attorney's lack of satisfaction over
the result. On the contrary, he smiled exultantly. His oritund voice
took on a deeper note, as he turned toward the secretary.

“Good!” he exclaimed. “Take this, Sarah.” And he continued, as the girl
opened her notebook and poised the pencil: “Be sure to have Smithson
post a copy of it conspicuously in all the girls' dressing-rooms, and in
the reading-room, and in the lunch-rooms, and in the assembly-room.” He
cleared his throat ostentatiously and proceeded to the dictation of the
notice:

“Mary Turner, formerly employed in this store, was to-day sentenced to
prison for three years, having been convicted for the theft of goods
valued at over four hundred dollars. The management wishes again to
draw attention on the part of its employees to the fact that honesty is
always the best policy.... Got that?”

“Yes, sir.” The secretary's voice was mechanical, without any trace of
feeling. She was not minded to disturb her employer a second time this
morning by injudicious comment.

“Take it to Smithson,” Gilder continued, “and tell him that I wish him
to attend to its being posted according to my directions at once.”

Again, the girl made her formal response in the affirmative, then left
the room.

Gilder brought forth a box of cigars from a drawer of the desk, opened
it and thrust it toward the waiting lawyer, who, however, shook his
head in refusal, and continued to move about the room rather restlessly.
Demarest paid no attention to the other's invitation to a seat, but the
courtesy was perfunctory on Gilder's part, and he hardly perceived
the perturbation of his caller, for he was occupied in selecting and
lighting a cigar with the care of a connoisseur. Finally, he spoke
again, and now there was an infinite contentment in the rich voice.

“Three years--three years! That ought to be a warning to the rest of the
girls.” He looked toward Demarest for acquiescence.

The lawyer's brows were knit as he faced the proprietor of the store.

“Funny thing, this case!” he ejaculated. “In some features, one of the
most unusual I have seen since I have been practicing law.”

The smug contentment abode still on Gilder's face as he puffed in
leisurely ease on his cigar and uttered a trite condolence.

“Very sad!--quite so! Very sad case, I call it.” Demarest went on
speaking, with a show of feeling: “Most unusual case, in my estimation.
You see, the girl keeps on declaring her innocence. That, of course, is
common enough in a way. But here, it's different. The point is, somehow,
she makes her protestations more convincing than they usually do. They
ring true, as it seems to me.”

Gilder smiled tolerantly.

“They didn't ring very true to the jury, it would seem,” he retorted.
And his voice was tart as he added: “Nor to the judge, since he deemed
it his duty to give her three years.”

“Some persons are not very sensitive to impressions in such cases, I
admit,” Demarest returned, coolly. If he meant any subtlety of allusion
to his hearer, it failed wholly to pierce the armor of complacency.

“The stolen goods were found in her locker,” Gilder declared in a
tone of finality. “Some of them, I have been given to understand, were
actually in the pocket of her coat.”

“Well,” the attorney said with a smile, “that sort of thing makes
good-enough circumstantial evidence, and without circumstantial evidence
there would be few convictions for crime. Yet, as a lawyer, I'm free to
admit that circumstantial evidence alone is never quite safe as proof of
guilt. Naturally, she says some one else must have put the stolen goods
there. As a matter of exact reasoning, that is quite within the measure
of possibility. That sort of thing has been done countless times.”

Gilder sniffed indignantly.

“And for what reason?” he demanded. “It's too absurd to think about.”

“In similar cases,” the lawyer answered, “those actually guilty of the
thefts have thus sought to throw suspicion on the innocent in order
to avoid it on themselves when the pursuit got too hot on their trail.
Sometimes, too, such evidence has been manufactured merely to satisfy a
spite against the one unjustly accused.”

“It's too absurd to think about,” Gilder repeated, impatiently. “The
judge and the jury found no fault with the evidence.”

Demarest realized that this advocacy in behalf of the girl was hardly
fitting on the part of the legal representative of the store she was
supposed to have robbed, so he abruptly changed his line of argument.

“She says that her record of five years in your employ ought to count
something in her favor.”

Gilder, however, was not disposed to be sympathetic as to a matter so
flagrantly opposed to his interests.

“A court of justice has decreed her guilty,” he asserted once again,
in his ponderous manner. His emphasis indicated that there the affair
ended.

Demarest smiled cynically as he strode to and fro.

“Nowadays,” he shot out, “we don't call them courts of justice: we call
them courts of law.”

Gilder yielded only a rather dubious smile over the quip. This much he
felt that he could afford, since those same courts served his personal
purposes well in deed.

“Anyway,” he declared, becoming genial again, “it's out of our hands.
There's nothing we can do, now.”

“Why, as to that,” the lawyer replied, with a hint of hesitation, “I am
not so sure. You see, the fact of the matter is that, though I helped to
prosecute the case, I am not a little bit proud of the verdict.”

Gilder raised his eyebrows in unfeigned astonishment. Even yet, he was
quite without appreciation of the attorney's feeling in reference to the
conduct of the case.

“Why?” he questioned, sharply.

“Because,” the lawyer said, again halting directly before the desk, “in
spite of all the evidence against her, I am not sure that Mary Turner is
guilty--far from it, in fact!”

Gilder uttered an ejaculation of contempt, but Demarest went on
resolutely.

“Anyhow,” he explained, “the girl wants to see you, and I wish to urge
you to grant her an interview.”

Gilder flared at this suggestion, and scowled wrathfully on the lawyer,
who, perhaps with professional prudence, had turned away in his rapid
pacing of the room.

“What's the use?” Gilder stormed. A latent hardness revealed itself at
the prospect of such a visitation. And along with this hardness came
another singular revelation of the nature of the man. For there was
consternation in his voice, as he continued in vehement expostulation
against the idea. If there was harshness in his attitude there was,
too, a fugitive suggestion of tenderness alarmed over the prospect of
undergoing such an interview with a woman.

“I can't have her crying all over the office and begging for mercy,” he
protested, truculently. But a note of fear lay under the petulance.

Demarest's answer was given with assurance,

“You are mistaken about that. The girl doesn't beg for mercy. In fact,
that's the whole point of the matter. She demands justice--strange as
that may seem, in a court of law!--and nothing else. The truth is, she's
a very unusual girl, a long way beyond the ordinary sales-girl, both in
brains and in education.”

“The less reason, then, for her being a thief,” Gilder grumbled in his
heaviest voice.

“And perhaps the less reason for believing her to be a thief,” the
lawyer retorted, suavely. He paused for a moment, then went on. There
was a tone of sincere determination in his voice. “Just before the judge
imposed sentence, he asked her if she had anything to say. You know,
it's just a usual form--a thing that rarely means much of anything.
But this case was different, let me tell you. She surprised us all by
answering at once that she had. It's really a pity, Gilder, that you
didn't wait. Why, that poor girl made a--damn--fine speech!”

The lawyer's forensic aspirations showed in his honest appreciation of
the effectiveness of such oratory from the heart as he had heard in the
courtroom that day.

“Pooh! pooh!” came the querulous objection. “She seems to have
hypnotized you.” Then, as a new thought came to the magnate, he spoke
with a trace of anxiety. There were always the reporters, looking for
space to fill with foolish vaporings.

“Did she say anything against me, or the store?”

“Not a word,” the lawyer replied, gravely. His smile of appreciation was
discreetly secret. “She merely told us how her father died when she was
sixteen years old. She was compelled after that to earn her own living.
Then she told how she had worked for you for five years steadily,
without there ever being a single thing against her. She said, too, that
she had never seen the things found in her locker. And she said more
than that! She asked the judge if he himself understood what it means
for a girl to be sentenced to prison for something she hadn't done.
Somehow, Gilder, the way she talked had its effect on everybody in the
courtroom. I know! It's my business to understand things like that. And
what she said rang true. What she said, and the way she said it,
take brains and courage. The ordinary crook has neither. So, I had a
suspicion that she might be speaking the truth. You see, Gilder, it all
rang true! And it's my business to know how things ring in that
way.” There was a little pause, while the lawyer moved back and forth
nervously. Then, he added: “I believe Lawlor would have suspended
sentence if it hadn't been for your talk with him.”

There were not wanting signs that Gilder was impressed. But the gentler
fibers of the man were atrophied by the habits of a lifetime. What heart
he had once possessed had been buried in the grave of his young wife, to
be resurrected only for his son. In most things, he was consistently a
hard man. Since he had no imagination, he could have no real sympathy.

He whirled about in his swivel chair, and blew a cloud of smoke from his
mouth. When he spoke, his voice was deeply resonant.

“I simply did my duty,” he said. “You are aware that I did not seek
any consultation with Judge Lawlor. He sent for me, and asked me what I
thought about the case--whether I thought it would be right to let the
girl go on a suspended sentence. I told him frankly that I believed that
an example should be made of her, for the sake of others who might be
tempted to steal. Property has some rights, Demarest, although it seems
to be getting nowadays so that anybody is likely to deny it.” Then the
fretful, half-alarmed note sounded in his voice again, as he continued:
“I can't understand why the girl wants to see me.”

The lawyer smiled dryly, since he had his back turned at the moment.

“Why,” he vouchsafed, “she just said that, if you would see her for ten
minutes, she would tell you how to stop the thefts in this store.”

Gilder displayed signs of triumph. He brought his chair to a level and
pounded the desk with a weighty fist.

“There!” he cried. “I knew it. The girl wants to confess. Well, it's
the first sign of decent feeling she's shown. I suppose it ought to be
encouraged. Probably there have been others mixed up in this.”

Demarest attempted no denial.

“Perhaps,” he admitted, though he spoke altogether without conviction.
“But,” he continued insinuatingly, “at least it can do no harm if you
see her. I thought you would be willing, so I spoke to the District
Attorney, and he has given orders to bring her here for a few minutes on
the way to the Grand Central Station. They're taking her up to Burnsing,
you know. I wish, Gilder, you would have a little talk with her. No harm
in that!” With the saying, the lawyer abruptly went out of the office,
leaving the owner of the store fuming.