And then, leaving the chairman to wonder what that could possibly have to do with the subject, Theodore bent eagerly forward. Two men were taking slow steps down the central aisle, trying to urge on the irresolute steps of the third--and the third one was Jerry! They were trying to get him forward to the pledge table. Would they succeed? It looked extremely doubtful. Jerry was shaking his head in answer to their low entreaties, and trying to turn back. Theodore arose suddenly, ran lightly down the steps, and advanced to his side. "Jerry," he said, in distinct, low tones, "come; you used to be a good friend of mine, and I want you to do a good turn for me now, and sign this pledge." Jerry turned bleared, rum-weakened eyes on him, and said in a thick, wondering voice: "Who the dickens be you?" "I'm an old friend of yours. Don't you know me? I used to be Tode Mall. Don't you remember? Come, take my arm; you and I have walked arm in arm down Broadway many a time; let us walk together now down this aisle and sign the pledge together." For all answer Jerry turned astounded eyes upon the speaker, and muttered in an under tone: "You be hanged! 'Tain't no such--yes, 'tis--no 'tain't--'tis, too--them's his eyes and his nose! I'll be shot if it ain't Tode Mall himself!" "Yes," said Theodore, "I'm myself positively, and I want you to come with me and sign that pledge. I signed it years ago, and with God's help it has made a man of me. It will help you, Jerry. Come." Great was the rustle of excitement in the hall as the notorious Jerry presently moved down the aisle leaning on the arm of the orator, and it began to be whispered through the crowd that he was once a resident of Albany, and actually a friend of that "dreadful Jerry Collins!" Many and wild were the surmises concerning him; but Theodore, all unconscious and indifferent, glowed with thankful pride as he steadied the pen in the trembling hand, and saw poor Jerry's name fairly written under the solemn pledge. On the morrow the eager search for the missing father was continued, aided by Jerry and by several others as it gradually began to dawn upon their minds who the father was, and who and what the son had become. Utterly in vain! Had the earth on some dark night opened suddenly and silently and swallowed him, he could not, it would seem, have passed more utterly from mortal knowledge than he had. As the search grew more fruitless Theodore's anxiety deepened. He prayed and mourned over that lost father, and it was with an unutterably sad heart that he finally dropped as a worthless straw the last seeming clew and gave him up.