ing like a run. Half-way down,
however, he pulled up abruptly to avoid running into two men. One
was Isaac. His worn, white face, with hooked nose and jet-black
eyes, made him a noticeable figure even in the twilight. The other
man was so muffled up as to be unrecognizable. Arnold stopped short.

"Glad you're home, Isaac," he said pleasantly. "I have just been
talking to Ruth. I thought she seemed rather queer."

Isaac looked at him coldly from head to foot. Arnold was wearing his
only and ordinary overcoat, but his varnished shoes and white tie
betrayed him.

"So you're wearing your cursed livery again!" he sneered. "You're
going to beg your bone from the rich man's plate."

Arnold laughed at him.

"Always the same, Isaac," he declared. "Never mind about me. You
look after your niece and take her out, if you can, somewhere. I am
going to give her a drive on Saturday."

"Are you?" Isaac said calmly. "I doubt it. Drives and carriages are
not for the like of us poor scum."

His companion nudged him impatiently. Isaac moved away. Arnold
turned after him.

"You won't deny the right of a man to spend what he earns in the way
he likes best?" he asked. "I've had a rise in my salary, and I am
going to spend a part of it taking Ruth out."

Isaac laughed scornfully.

"A rise in your salary!" he muttered. "You poor slave! Did you go
and kiss your master's foot when he gave it to you?"

"I didn't," Arnold declared. "To tell you the truth, I believe it
would have annoyed him. He hasn't any sense of humor, you see. Good
night, Isaac. If you're writing one of those shattering articles
to-night, remember that Ruth can hear you, and don't keep her awake
too late."

Arnold walked on. Suddenly his attention was arrested. Isaac was
leaning over the banister of the landing above.

"Stop!"

Arnold paused for a moment.

"What is it?" he asked.

Isaac came swiftly down. He brushed his cloth hat further back on
his head as though it obscured his vision. With both hands he
gripped Arnold's arm.

"Tell me," he said, "what do you mean by that?"

"What I said," Arnold answered; "but, for Heaven's sake, don't visit
it on poor Ruth. She told me that you had some printing-press in
your room to set up your pamphlets, and that the tap, tap at night
had kept her awake. It's no concern of mine. I don't care what you
do or what rubbish you print, but I can't bear to see the little
woman getting frailer and frailer, Isaac."

"She