e in his life there came
into Grant's consciousness some sense of the price which parents pay in
the rearing of little children. He thought of all the hours of sickness,
of all the childish hurts and dangers, and suddenly he found himself
thinking of his father with a tenderness which was strange and new to
him. Doubtless under even that stern veneer of business interest had
beat a heart which, many a time, had tightened in the grip of fear for
young Dennison.

As the night wore on the storm, instead of spending itself quickly
as Grant had expected, continued unabated, but his nervous tension
gradually relaxed, and when at length Wilson was awakened by an
exceptionally loud clap of thunder he took the boy in his arms and
soothed his little fears as a mother might have done. They sat for
a long while in a big chair in the living-room, and exchanged such
confidences as a man may with a child of five. After the lad had dropped
back into sleep Grant still sat with him in his arms, thinking....

And what he thought was this: He was a long while framing the exact
thought; he tried to beat it back in a dozen ways, but it circled around
him, gradually closed in upon him and forced its acceptance. "Linder
called me a fool, and he was right. He might have called me a coward,
and again he would have been right. Linder was right."

Some way it seemed easy to reach that conclusion while this little
sleeping form lay in his arms. Perhaps it had quickened into life that
ennobling spirit of parenthood which is all sacrifice and love and
self-renunciation. The ends which seemed so all-desirable a few hours
ago now seemed sordid and mean and unimportant. Reaching out for some
means of self-justification Grant turned to the Big Idea; that was his;
that was big and generous and noble. But after all, was it his? The idea
had come in upon him from some outside source--as perhaps all ideas
do; struck him like a bullet; swept him along. He was merely the agency
employed in putting it into effect. It had cost him nothing. He was
doing that for society. Now was the time to do something that would
cost; to lay his hand upon the prize and then relinquish it--for the
sake of Wilson Transley!

"And by God I'll do it!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet. He carried
the child back to his bed, and then turned again to watch the storm
through the windows. It seemed to be subsiding; the lightning, although
still almost continuous, was not so near. T