“You ought to know more than you do know about me, at all events,” Walton went on. “I'd feel better if nothing at all was hidden from your knowledge. I haven't lived right, Mr. Whipple. I went wrong--frightfully wrong. I got in debt--it is worse than that. I misappropriated a considerable sum of money belonging to my father. He is a stern, hard man, and demanded as much of me as he would have done of a stranger. I left home to escape arrest. You may think I ought to have submitted to the law. I simply couldn't, for I felt that my father, when his passion cooled, would regret his step, and, moreover, I felt that, with my freedom, I could apply myself and eventually restore the loss.” “Merciful Father!” Whipple exclaimed, fervently. “Lord have mercy! To think of a man blessed with a son holding the law over his repentant head and chasing him from spot to spot over God's green earth! The child he brought into the world and saw cooing in the cradle, a little, tiny sprout of his own flesh and blood, made in the image of the Lord God of Hosts! My boy,” the old man leaned forward, “shake hands with me. I've often wanted to help young men in my stormy life, but, God knows, I never felt the desire as strong as I do now. Just in this little talk I've been drawn more closely to you than I ever was to a human being before. You are the right sort, the genuine thing; if I was to turn you adrift, I'd never get over it. I had a boy once, and I doted on him. He died when he was a little toddling fellow, and since then I have never been consoled. But his loss, and the memory of him, has warmed my heart to young men wherever I meet them. You must come to me, my boy. I feel sure we'll pull together. In fact, I'd want you at hand, for I'd grieve to see you falter in your noble undertaking. God will bless your effort as sure as the stars are shining up there in the heavens to-night.” “I haven't told you quite all yet,” Walton added, in a low tone. “To protect myself, I took another name. My real name is--” “Stop! Don't tell me. That won't make one bit of difference to me,” Whipple answered, with a sigh, as if he were thinking more of the young man's former revelations than the one just made. “No doubt it is best. You say you have determined to make good the loss, and if bearing another name will help you out, then it can't be wrong. Go ahead, I'll be your friend; I'll stick to you. I'm glad we came together to-night. It makes me feel better. I've seen many sorts of human struggles, but I never saw one that touched me down deep like yours does. Wait, let me lock up, and I'll walk along a piece with you.” Outside, after he had closed the heavy door, the merchant put his hand on the arm of his companion, and they moved on down the street together. Suddenly they paused. Whipple swept his fat hand in a slow gesture toward the skies.