ansaction, "like power! Like a power I've been hungering for
for ten years! May I have your stenographer for a few moments, sir?"

Sothern touched the buzzer and the clerk came in from the outer office.

"Take Mr. Drennen's dictation," said Sothern. "I'll go into the other
room. . . ."

Drennen lifted his hand.

"It's nothing private, sir," he said. "I'd rather you stayed. I'd
like a word with you afterwards."

The clerk took pencil and notebook. And Drennen, his eyes never
leaving Sothern's face, dictated:

"Harley W. Judson, Esq., President Eastern Mines, Inc., New York.

DEAR SIR:--In compliance with the last request of my father, John
Harper Drennen, before his departure for Europe in 1901, I am
forwarding draft on the Merchants' & Citizens' National Bank of New
York for $40,000. John Harper Drennen's original indebtedness to your
company was, you will remember, $75,000. Of this amount some $50,000
was paid from the sales of such properties belonging to him at that
time. The remaining $25,000 at an interest of 6% for the ten years
during which the obligation has continued, amounts to the $40,000 which
I enclose.

Respectfully,"

"That is all, Mr. Drennen?" asked the clerk.

"That is all," answered Drennen. The clerk went out. Drennen turned
toward the man at the desk whose stern set face had gone strangely
white.

"The absconding John Harper Drennen made such a request of you?"
Marshall Sothern said calmly, though the effort for control was evident.

"No. It's just a little lie told for my father . . . the only thing I
have ever done for him!"

Drennen came suddenly about the table, both of his strong hands out.

"When a man is very young he judges sweepingly, he condemns bitterly.
Now . . . why, now I don't give a damn what you've done or why!" His
voice went hoarse, his hands shook and into the hard eyes of David
Drennen, eyes grown unbelievably soft now, the tears stood. "If only
you hadn't shut me out that way . . . God! I've missed you, Dad!"

The old man made no answer as his hand grew like rock about his son's.
A smile ineffably sweet touched his lips and shone in his eyes. The
years had been hard, merciless years to him as they had been to David
Drennen. But for a moment the past was forgotten, this brief fragment
of time standing supreme in the two lives. At last, in the silence,
there fell upon them that little awkwardness which comes to such men
when for a second the