"What was the use? I don't belong here. I didn't wish to embarrass you. Can't you see that? I saw Miss Harmon the other day. She was walking on Fifth Avenue. She didn't see me. Why should she? I was working on a job close by. She happened to pass just as I was about to quit work. I looked at her, but she didn't see me. Even if she did, she wouldn't want to recognize me in these togs. I know that. I don't blame her."
"You don't know my daughter," exclaimed Mr. Harmon enthusiastically. "She is the last girl in the world to act like that. If she had seen you, she would have been the first to extend her hand. I'm a self-made man myself," he added proudly. "There's nothing snobbish about me, and I hope there isn't about my daughter. You'll come up-stairs with me now and be introduced to everybody as the man who saved her."
Armitage shook his head.
"No—it isn't you—it's the world. It's not ourselves—it's because we're afraid of what the world, our neighbors, will think. No, I wouldn't embarrass your daughter. Besides, I've no wish to be put on exhibition."
Mr. Harmon, puzzled, scratched his head.
"Well, what can we do to show our gratitude? Let me give you a little present."
He took out his check-book, and, sitting down, wrote an order to bearer for $10,000.
"Here, Mr. Armitage. This is far cheaper than I value my daughter. But it will make life easy for you. You can start some business—be practically independent for life. Here, my boy, take it with a father's gratitude."
He passed the check over to Armitage, who looked at it a moment. A smile passed over his face and slowly, deliberately, he tore it into tiny pieces.
"What are you doing?" cried Mr. Harmon.