For Gold or Soul? Part 26

"I agree with you," exclaimed Mrs. Marvin, promptly. "The principles of Christianity oppose success at every turn. To be Christ-like one must always be poor, always weak and, consequently, always downtrodden."

"Your daughter does not believe that," said Miss Dean, smiling.

Faith was so in earnest when she answered that she stopped on the sidewalk and faced them.

"Is there any success greater than this," she asked, eagerly, "to earn those precious words from the lips of our Saviour, 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant,' and to receive at the end of life that joy everlasting that is promised to those who follow Him, even though they bear the cross of worldly failure?"

Miss Dean stared at the young girl in honest admiration. While she questioned her reasoning, she almost envied her. If a simple faith was so satisfying it was certainly worth having, but to natures like hers this simple faith was impossible.

CHAPTER XXIV.

MR. DENTON'S ULTIMATUM.

When Mr. Denton left that scene of sorrow in which Faith Marvin had just played so sweet a role, he could not possibly have described his tumultuous feelings. Not a night since that sad death in the cloak-room had he been able to sleep peacefully, and even by day his thoughts were sorely disturbed. It was, as his son had said, as though the spirit of Miss Jennings was haunting him.

He was not a bad-hearted man by any means, but, like hundreds of others, he thought only of his own interests and those of his wife and son, who were very dear to him. Out of his own station in life he rarely looked, and the question of equal rights never presented itself to him seriously.

Now, however, something had taken possession of him which he could not understand. He was beginning to meditate upon the rights of others.

As he hurried home after those brief moments at the undertaker's, he went over the scenes of the last few days, trying to determine the causes which led to his perturbation of spirit.

First and foremost in his mind was the conversation with the Government Inspector just before the death of Miss Jennings. She had taken him seriously to task about the condition of the store, and her words had stung him; they were so earnest and truthful. At the very moment of his entrance to the cloak-room he was mentally censuring himself for his almost criminal thoughtlessness for the consideration of others.

Then came the dying words and the glance of those death-glazed eyes. He shuddered even now when he recalled them so vividly.

Since then the awakening of his conscience had come, he had seen himself exactly as he was, a traitor to himself, to humanity, and to his G.o.d, and the sight filled him with remorse. He was shamed and repentant.

What to do next, was the question of his soul. He could not undo the past, but, thank G.o.d, there was still a present and a future!

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 fas.h.i.+ons, 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."

"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?"