As Jack mildly stared at the child, the light in his eyes changed to a look far off, and there gradually stole over his face an aspect of infinite sadness, reminiscent of the days of his childhood. On resuming his presence of mind, he went to the cupboard and took from there a bottle. After removing the stopper he took a straight draught of liquor, turned low the light and tip-toed to the bedroom door, listened, and heard Dorothy say: "Oh, dear Jesus, make George Golda good; help him remember his promise to take me home tomorrow." Jack was deeply moved by the child's sweet disposition, and he turned away disgusted at the despicable role he was enacting, and muttered reflectively: "Good God, that I should come to this! From secretary-treasurer of the Securities Investment Association to be a kidnapper of babes! "Jack Shore, the kidnapper! What a fall is here! Yes, I have sunk so low as to abduct from a fond, suffering mother one of the purest gems of flesh and blood that ever blest a home. And for what? The almighty dollar! Only that, and nothing more! Curse the damned dollar that drives men to crime! "Curse it for cramming hell with lost souls. I'll wash my hands of this whole business; I'll have no more of it; I'll take the child home!" The resolution was so cheering, so fruitful of kindly intent, and urged on by the "still, small voice" within him to do right, that he decided to fortify himself with a second drink of liquor. Then a contra train of reflection seized him, and he whispered, as one suddenly confronted with an appalling calamity: "Ah, ah! What am I saying? And I have scarcely a dollar in the world! Have gone hungry for the want of it--and here is twenty thousand of the beautiful golden things actually in sight--almost at my finger tips!" and with the thought blank concern spread over his face, and the kindly purpose, the human compassion for his fellow being in its transient passage to his heart, again took flight and the "still, small voice" within him shrank abashed to silence. "Out with this sentimental nonsense! The Thorpes can stand the loss of a few thousand without a twitch of an eyelash." The sound of a couple of gentle taps on the starboard side of the cabin broke his train of audible thoughts and claimed his quick attention. The taps were repeated distinctly. He answered them with three light taps on the wall, given by the joint of his finger. Then he quietly opened the door, and Philip Rutley, with the collar of his coat turned up closely about his face, stood in the opening. "All skookum, Jack?" he questioned, in low tones, on entering. "All skookum, Phil," answered Jack, as he locked and bolted the door. "Good! I love to look at the little darling. Jack, she is a gold mine." And, so saying, Rutley took the lamp from over the shelf and cautiously opening the door, peered within.