's all right, Garry. My own opinion is that it's no
better than swindling. Anyway, I'm mighty glad Uncle Arthur isn't mixed
up in it. You heard what Sam and the other fellows thought, didn't you?
How would you like to have that said of you?"

Garry tossed back his head and laughed.

"Biffy, are you listening to his Reverence, the Bishop of Cumberland?
Here endeth the first lesson."

Biff nodded over his high-ball. He wasn't listening--discussions of any
kind bored him.

"But what do you care, Jack, what they say--what anybody says?"
continued Garry. "Keep right on. You are in the Street to make money,
aren't you? Everybody else is there for the same purpose. What goes up
must come down. If you don't want to get your head smashed, stand from
under. The game is to jump in, grab what you can, and jump out, dodging
the bricks as they come. Let's go up-town, old man."

Neither of the young men was expressing his own views. Both were too
young and too inexperienced to have any fixed ideas on so vital a
subject.

It was the old fellow in the snuff-colored coat, black stock and
dog-eared collar that was behind Jack. If he were alive to-day Jack's
view would have been his view, and that was the reason why it was Jack's
view. The boy could no more explain it than he could prove why his eyes
were brown and his hair a dark chestnut, or why he always walked with
his toes very much turned out, or made gestures with his hands when he
talked. Had any of the jury been alive--and some of them were--or the
prosecuting-attorney, or even any one of the old settlers who attended
court, they could have told in a minute which one of the two young men
was Judge Breen's son. Not that Jack looked like his father. No young
man of twenty-two looks like an old fellow of sixty, but he certainly
moved and talked like him--and had the same way of looking at things.
"The written law may uphold you, sir, and the jury may so consider, but
I shall instruct them to disregard your plea. There is a higher law,
sir, than justice--a law of mercy--That I myself shall exercise." The
old Judge had sat straight up on his bench when he said it, his face
cast-iron, his eyes burning. The jury brought in an acquittal without
leaving their seats. There was an outbreak, of course, but the man went
free. This young offshoot was from the same old stock, that was all;
same sap in his veins, same twist to his branch; same bud, same blossom
and--same fruit.

And Garr