day," the lawyer cried, after he had carefully closed the door of
the bedroom.

"It won't ruin you, James. Your name isn't mentioned yet. Perhaps
it may not be. It can't hurt you, even if it is."

"I tell you it will ruin me both socially and politically. Once it
gets out nobody will trust me. I'll be the son of a thief," James
insisted wildly.

"You're the son of a man who made a slip and has paid for it,"
answered Jeff steadily. "Don't let your ideas get warped. This
town is full of men who have done wrong and haven't paid for it."

"That's one of your fool socialist theories." James spoke sharply
and irritably. "No man's guilty till the law says so. They haven't
been in the penitentiary. He has. That's what damns me if it gets
out."

Jeff laid a hand affectionately on his cousin's shoulder. "Don't
you believe it for a moment. There's no moral distinction between
the man who has paid and the man who hasn't paid for his sins
toward society. There is good and there is bad in all of us,
closely intertwined, knit together into the very warp and woof of
our lives. We're all good and we're all bad."

It was with James a purely personal equation. He could not forget
its relation to himself.

"My name is to be voted on at the University Club next month. I'll