He was now one of the "others"; his "people," whom no one had known, were to be known now, after years of probity, as the relatives of a—
"Nobody really knew who he was," Brainard repeated; "but he was taken right in and given a good place. Hasn't he ever wondered why? Is it so easy to go into a new town, and get a good job in a bank the very first thing? Wasn't there any other men to jump at the chance of a position half as good—ain't the city full of 'em? Wasn't there any of 'em in the bank itself who was waiting for the place themselves—and had a right to it, too? Why was there a vacant place to fill, anyhow? Because, a week before, another man had done just what this man has done. He was your man, Fairchild, too. And why did this one here come stepping in ahead of all the old ones? You fixed it, Fairchild; you liked his looks and his talk, you said. Another bad guess for you."
Fairchild studied the carpet with abashed eyes, as were he himself the culprit.
"Yes," Brainard continued, "he was put in a good place and he was pushed right along. Hasn't he ever guessed why? Does a new man come into an office like this, and get as far along inside of a year as he has, without there being any reason for it 2 I'll tell him the reason for it. I did it because my girl here—"
"Father!" cried Abbie, with face aflame. "No! No!"
"You say you understand," he said, turning towards her. "Now, let him understand, too. I advanced him to this position," he went on shamelessly, "because my girl here asked me to."
"No, father! No!" the poor child cried. She threw her shamefaced head on Mrs. Ogden's bosom. She had never seen her before, but under such circumstances the only place for a woman's face was on another woman's breast.
"Yes, you did, too—ask me," he went on, with increased hardihood. "Or just the same as asked—I knew what you meant, well enough. And I said to myself I'd do it. One girl went wrong," he continued, with a choking in his throat, "and I wanted to do what I could to—I wanted Abbie to do different; I wasn't going to have her carried off by another infernal scoundrel."
Ogden flushed and paled and sank down into his chair. His head dropped into his hands; there was no possibility of his holding it up before anything like this.
"And so I helped him on. I said, 'If I do the right thing by him, he will do the right thing by—her; he will act like a man.' I did do the right thing by him—and what then? He had been hanging around all the spring—taking walks and sitting out in front and borrowing books. But the moment I put him on his legs what did he do?"