He had one more hard task to perform. The carriage was waiting, and the other drunken son must be conveyed to his father's house. A few moments of rapid driving brought them to the modest white house, with its green blinds, one of them with the slats turned so that the pale tearful watcher at the window could see the carriage, and before Theodore had time to ring the door was unbolted, and this time it was a gray-haired father who received them. Grim and silent was he, but ever and anon as they were passing up the stairs they heard a low heart-rending moan from the poor mother, who had left the window and buried her head among the cushions of the sofa. Theodore knew nothing about the sweet sleeping baby who had nestled so cozily in the great rocking-chair twenty-three years before; but the mother did, and had lived to understand that had her precious baby Benny slept the sleep that knows no waking when in his infancy, it would have been infinitely better than the stupor of body and brain that held him now. "Young man," said Mr. Phillips, as they reached the outer door again, "I don't know who you are, but I am thankful that you have saved us from any further disgrace by bringing him home. God grant that this night's work may be a warning to you, and that you may never need such disgraceful help for yourself." He evidently mistook Theodore for one of the boon companions of his son. The driver, overhearing the remark, chuckled softly, and remarked to himself: "That's a good one! He's mistook his chap this time, I could tell him;" but Theodore bowed in respectful silence, and felt a consuming pity for that heavily stricken father. As he entered the carriage the driver volunteered some information. "That man sells rum himself, in his grocery over there across the street, and he fought against the 'no license' petition like a wild tiger last fall." "Drive me home now, please," said Theodore aloud, in answer to this; and to himself he said, as he sank wearily among the cushions: "Then I pray God to have mercy on him, and not make his judgment heavier than he can bear." CHAPTER XX. MRS. JENKINS' TOMMY. There came a low tapping on the green baize door of Mr. Stephens' private office. "Come," said Mr. Stephens from within, and a clerk entered. "Is Mr. Mallery in, sir? There is a queer looking personage in the store who insists upon seeing him." "Mallery," said Mr. Stephens, turning his head slightly, and addressing an individual farther back behind a high desk, "are you engaged?" "Nine seventy-two--one moment, Mr. Stephens--nine eighty-one, nine ninety, one thousand. Now, sir, what is it?" and in a moment thereafter Mr. Mallery emerged. The clerk repeated his statement. "Very well," said Theodore, "I'll be out in one moment." He still held the package of one thousand dollars which he had just counted in his hand. "There is your money, Mr. Stephens," he said, laying it down as the outer door closed on them. "All right, is it?"