William Jordan, Junior

by J. C. Snaith

William Jordan stood placidly with his hands by his sides.

“I would have hailed the opportunity,” said Mr. Octavius Crumpett, “of paying a substantial sum of money to a charitable institution had it been possible by that means to prevent such a thing happening to this house. Mr. Jordan, I feel I must ask you to have the kindness to go down-stairs for a short time, while I—ah, I—ah, earnestly deliberate as to the right course to adopt.”

The young man bowed and withdrew. As he was passing out of the door, Mr. Octavius Crumpett said, “Do—ah, I understand, Mr. Jordan, that you have no palliation to offer, no words of contrition to express?”

“None, sir,” said the young man. His voice was precise; his absence of gesture was that of a statue.

At the top of the stairs William Jordan encountered James Dodson, who was ascending them.

“My God, Luney, you must be mad!” cried his mentor, giving one half-tragic glance at the face of the young man.

William Jordan passed down the stairs as though he had neither seen nor heard him.

For a considerable time Mr. Octavius Crumpett meditated upon his course of action. He was a humane, enlightened, high-principled, liberal-minded gentleman; a notable product of that which a long-established society had achieved in the way of civilization. In respect and solicitude for his kind he yielded to none. But he was now face to face with the most sinister problem that a sheltered experience had ever been called upon to confront.

As he sat revolving the matter in his thoughts, he seemed to feel that sterner and more forcible clay was required to grapple with an issue so momentous. In his enlightened desire to keep abreast of the foremost practice upon the subject, he rang his bell and summoned one upon whom, whose youth and subordinate rank notwithstanding, he had already learned to lean.

“Mr. Dodson,” said Mr. Octavius Crumpett, with unmistakable horror and distress in his kind brown eyes, “I was justified in my conjecture. The money was left upon the table; it was abstracted—and—and by one employed in this house.”