The pay envelopes were made out that afternoon, Johnathan getting great enjoyment from writing the names on each in a very precise hand and admiring his penmanship with great self-pride. When they were filled, he took them upstairs personally. “Paying off” was something he always reserved for himself. It gave dignity to the owner of a business. The help thereby associated him with money. Finally the Richards girl’s envelope remained. “You give her this, and explain why it’s short,” the father ordered, tossing it across to the boy when he returned to the office. Such a thing was good discipline for obstreperous youth. Nathan removed his overalls and went upstairs. He had eight dollars clandestinely removed from the petty cash. ‘There’s a mistake in your envelope, Milly,” he said. “It only holds ten dollars. So here’s the other eight to make it right. And Milly?” “Yes?” “Monday morning I’m not coming back. If you know of a better job, you’d better take it.” “Where you goin’, Nathan?” “Back to the tannery, to keep the books for Mr. Gridley.” The girl’s face fell. She was pretty in a dumpish, common sort of way. She flushed slightly and turned toward the window looking down on the acres of rushes. “I dunno as I care to keep my job here—if you’re going, Nathan,” she confessed. Then she fled down the stairs, leaving the boy stupefied. II It was Saturday night and Nathan went up to the Gridley front door and rang the bell. The Duchess answered. The boy asked for her husband. Old Caleb had been the only real father Nathan had ever known. Old Caleb had been the first to notice him, a poor young slave in an abattoir, the first to encourage him, to treat him kindly, to give credence and deference to the boy’s opinions, efforts and dreams. It had been old Caleb who had kept his spark of self-confidence alive and burning when time after time Johnathan tried to extinguish it. Old Caleb, let it be stated now, loved Nathan like a son. As for Nathan’s love of old Caleb, it stood for the lad’s entire faith in human nature. If old Caleb had ever betrayed his confidence the milk of human kindness in the lad might have turned to sour clabber. “He’s in his study, on the second floor,” declared the Duchess grandly. Nathan knew his way upstairs; he had been there before. The Duchess returned to a visitor in the side room as Nathan passed the portières. The boy was closeted with old Caleb half the evening. “No, bub, I wouldn’t quit your old man yet,” the tanner advised. “My advice to you is to mark your time. Always remember that the man who can deliver the goods is the man who rules! You’ve delivered the goods down to the box shop and so you’re the real ruler. All your old man needs is a lesson. You stay out for a week; pretend you’re sick if you want, then let him try to boss the gang. He’ll have you back—high, wide and handsome—with a valuable lesson learned in addition. At least let’s hope so.”