"It's because you have
never grown old--because you've never allowed yourself to grow absolutely
certain about anything in life." A smile half sad and half perplexed came
on her father's heavy face.
"You consider that a strong point?" he asked.
"I do," she replied, "compared to being a bundle of creeds and prejudices."
"Oh, I've got prejudices enough."
"Yes," she said. "And so have I. But we're not even sure of _them_, these
days."
"The world has a habit of crowding in," her father muttered vaguely.
* * * * *
Roger did not sleep that night. He could not keep his thoughts away from
what was going to happen at dawn. Yes, the city was crowding in upon this
quiet house of his. Dimly he could recollect, in the genial years of long
ago, just glancing casually now and then at some small and unobtrusive
notice in his evening paper: "Execution at Sing Sing." It had been so
remote to him. But here it was smashing into his house, through the life
his own daughter was leading day and night among the poor! Each time he
thought of that lad in a cell, again a chill crept over him! But savagely
he shook it off, and by a strong effort of his will he turned his thoughts
to the things she had told him about her school. Yes, in her main idea she
was right. He had no use for wild reforms, but here was something solid, a
good education for every child. More than once, while she had talked,
something very deep in Roger had leaped up in swift response.
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