umbrella in his fingers a moment before replying. His glance at
the closed door was no more significant than his lowered tones.

"It didn't go very well with him, Graydon. He isn't here any more."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the trial. There was a trial, you see. Haven't you heard
anything?"

"Trial? He--he was arrested?" came numbly from the young man's
lips.

"I can't mince matters, Graydon. I'll get it over as quickly as
possible. Your father was tried for blackmail and was convicted.
He is in--he's in the penitentiary."

The son's face became absolutely bloodless; his eyes were full
of comprehension and horror, and his body stiffened as if he were
turning to stone. The word penitentiary fell slowly, mechanically
from his lips. He looked into Droom's eyes, hoping it might be a
joke of the calloused old clerk.

"You--it--it can't be true," he murmured, his trembling hands going
to his temples.

"Yes, my boy, it is true. I didn't write to you about it, because
I wanted to put it off as long as I could. It's for five years."

"God!" burst from the wretched son. A wave of shame and grief sent