him, and, as he drew some papers towards him, answered quietly: "I must
make it mine, Billy, without a doubt."

The tall youth shifted in his chair and essayed to laugh.

"You've never been particular about your own business. Pshaw, what's the
use of preaching to me!"

Charley pushed his chair back, and his look had just a touch of surprise,
a hint of embarrassment. This youth, then, thought him something of a
fool: read him by virtue of his ornamentations, his outer idiosyncrasy!
This boy, whose iniquity was under his finger on that table, despised him
for his follies, and believed in him less than his wife--two people who
had lived closer to him than any others in the world. Before he answered
he lifted the glass beside him and drank to the last drop, then slowly
set it down and said, with a dangerous smile:

"I have always been particular about other people's finances, and the
statement that you haven't isn't preaching, it's an indictment--so it is,
Billy."

"An indictment!" Billy bit his finger-nails now, and his voice shook.

"That's what the jury would say, and the judge would do the preaching.
You have stolen twenty-five thousand dollars of trust-moneys!"

For a moment there was absolute silence in the room. From outside in the
square came the Marche-t'en! of a driver, and the loud cackling laugh of
some loafer at the corner. Charley's look imprisoned his brother-in-law,
and Billy's eyes were fixed in a helpless stare on Charley's finger,