"See here, boy!" he said suddenly. "Give me your mother's address, and
here's a ten-dollar bill for her. Now, go home and take care of her."
The boy's face flushed crimson as he refused the money.
"I wouldn't dare to take it," he muttered sheepishly. "She'd think I
stole it."
"Then I'll send it by mail," said Mr. Denton quickly, "and I'll tell
her at the same time that we don't mind about the three hundred. We can
forgive a boy who only stole to help a sick mother."
"Oh, sir!" cried the boy. But he could get no farther. The next second
he was shaking with a storm of sobs. The agony of his repentance had
reached its limit. Before he left the building the letter had been
posted to his mother through the pneumatic mailing tube that opened in
Mr. Denton's office.
Mr. Denton's next duty was to see his buyers. He was still smarting with
indignation over that "sweatshop" horror.
In less than an hour he had them all assembled in the receiving-room,
which was piled from end to end with the products of underpaid labor.
His speech to them was short but decidedly to the point. They were to
submit the names of the persons or firms whom they bought of, and
receive his express commands concerning all further orders.
"I cannot have the souls of these poor creatures on my conscience any
longer," he said at the conclusion of his statements.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168