. He asked
questions which only made his father sigh; for they had little to do with
the economy of working costs. All his suggestions were extravagant; they
would contribute to the joy of the employees, but not to profit. And
other questions made his father frown in devising answers which were in
the nature of explanations. Born of his rambling and humanly observant
relations with every department, they led into the very heart of things
in that mighty organization. There were times when it was hard for him
to control his indignation. There were trails leading to the room with
the glass-paneled door marked "Private" which he half feared to pursue.

Thus, between father and son remained that indefinable chasm of thought
and habit which filial duty or politeness could not bridge. No stories of
the desert were ever told at home, though it was so easy to tell them to
Burleigh or Mathewson, those contrasts in a pale fitter of clothes and a
herculean rustler of dry-goods boxes. But echoes of the tales came to the
father through his assistants. He had the feeling of some stranger spirit
in his own likeness moving there in the streets of his city under the
talisman of a consanguinity that was nominal. One day he put an inquiry
to the general manager concretely, though in a way to avoid the
appearance of asking another's opinion about his own son.

"He has your gift of winning men to him. There is no denying his
popularity with the force," said the general manager, who was a diplomat.

The same question was put to Peter Mortimer.

"We all love him. I think a lot of people in the store would march out to
the desert after him," said Mortimer, with real rejoicing in his candor
and courage. Indeed, of late he had been developing cheer as well as
courage, imbibing both, perhaps, from the roses in the vase on his
employer's desk. Jack had ordered a fresh bunch put there every day; and
when employees were sick packages of grapes and bunches of flowers came
to them, in Little Rivers fashion, with J.W. on the card, as if they had
come from the head of the firm himself.

"Maybe Jack will soften the old man a little," ran a whisper from
basement to roof. For the battalions called him "Jack," rather than "Mr.
Wingfield," just as Little Rivers had.

"The boy's good nature isn't making him too familiar with the employees?"
was a second question which the father had asked both the general manager
and Mortimer.

"No. That is the surprisi