THE clock in the dingy office of "Sampston & Co., Importers," struck five. It was the time when the erect and dignified senior member of the firm, prompt to the minute, always slipped the cable of the business day. A click of a stick on the floor; a stiff nod of the head to the book-keeper, and Plympton Sampson passed into the street.

      The white head of the old book-keeper hung intently over the ledger, the trial balance would not prove. With a clatter, his pencil fell to the floor. As he straightened himself from the hunt for the fleeing pencil, he heard a slight sound from the inner office. Behind him hung a small mirror. As he turned to his high desk, he saw in the glass the reflection of a man. The man in the mirror carefully opened a safe. From the safe the man removed a package, and placing this in a black valise, carefully shut the iron door.

HE SAW IN THE GLASS THE REFLECTION OF A MAN.

      If Nathaniel Harris, the book-keeper, noticed that Frank Stanley, the junior member of the firm, had taken a package from the safe, he at that time attached no significance to the occurrence.

      Nathaniel had always watched over Frank with the eye of a loving monitor. He had shown the bright-faced boy of 14 the difference between the "Dr." and "Cr." side of the ledger. As step by step the young clerk rose, Nathaniel was ever a helping friend. If he believed that Stanley spent money freely, he consoled himself with the thought that it was honestly earned. He, a childless widower, was proud of his young friend, proud of his beautiful wife, and worshiped his little daughter.

      With a quick step, cheerfully swinging his valise, Frank Stanley entered the outer office.

      "Now, my dear old friend," said he, laying a firm hand on the book-keeper's shoulder, "How many times must I tell you that 'Sampson & Co.' employ you between the hours of nine and five only. You are getting along in years, Mr. Harris, and it is your duty to close your books and go to your beloved fiddle."

      "You are very kind, Mr. Frank," said Nathaniel, "and I appreciate all your courtesy, but when my balance is even a little out, the fiddle loses its charm until I find the error."

      "And that fiddle reminds me," said the young partner, "that my wife and your dearest friend, Gertrude, wish you to spend the evening with us next Friday. Gertie can say Harris now, and is very proud of the achievement. She puckers her rosebud of a mouth, and works her lips; then with a shout, out tumbles 'Tharris.' So, Mr. Tharris, you are not to forget Friday evening at six o'clock."

      Buttoning his becoming overcoat, and whistling a bar from the latest concert-hall melody, the cheery young man passed through the door.

      How fine-looking he is, mused Nathaniel, and how Fortune has showered pleasant things upon him! His wife is a beautiful woman, and Gertrude is a fair-haired little goddess. But I am forgetting the musical in Tenth street; I must hasten home to supper.

      That night Nathaniel did not sleep soundly; he was troubled by a figure in a glass, who softly took a package from a safe and placed it in a black valise. "Foolish old man," he muttered, waking from his disturbed slumber for the twentieth time; "Who has a better right to take packages from the safe than Frank Stanley?"

      Friday night came, and, with Stanley carrying the violin case, the old man was almost gay. "Look, Mr. Frank!" he said, while they were on the Elevated turning the corner at Third street, "See, there is Gertie's star, as she calls it! How beautiful the sky is, to be sure!"

      The dinner was good; the glass of mild old port cheered Nathaniel's heart, but not as much as the prattle of the busy chatterer at his side. After dinner, for the hundredth time, he must tell the story of the "frog who would a-wooing go" to the dancing-eyed little girl. Then the fragrant cigar, while Gertie was being put to bed. When the mother came down again, Nathaniel must go to say "good-night" to his sleepy playmate. Into the dim little room, through the dainty blue and white door-hangings, Nathaniel tip-toed softly. He knelt at the bedside, while a slumber-heavy voice said, "Dear Tharris — papa calls you that, and so can I — Dear Tharris, your Gertie loves you muchly; when she gets very big, you will be her prince and wear a long, red coat. Kiss me, dear Tharris, I am most awful sleepy." And then, the duet from Mozart, and the pleasant chat of books. As Nathaniel passed into the street, he thanked heaven for these kind friends.

      The time of the last obstinate trial balance had almost faded in Nathaniel's mind. He was mounted on his high stool, and did not notice the entrance of the senior member of the firm.

      "Harris," he heard, "will you be so kind as to follow me into the private office." As Nathaniel entered the office, he saw a look of fear on Stanley's face. A package lay open on Mr. Sampson's desk, and somehow this manilla covered parcel seemed familiar to Nathaniel.

      "Harris, will you take a seat?" said Mr. Sampson. "Now," he continued, "Harris, before I speak of this important matter, I desire to say that the firm has every confidence in you; the many years of service you have given this house has entitled you to our respect."

      Nathaniel had never felt at ease with the head of the firm; added to this feeling, he had now a dread of the mystery which seemed to hang in the air.

      Mr. Sampson, gazing at the package, continued, "Several months ago, Harris, you will remember that this package was placed in the safe. You will also recollect the entry then made on your books; a ledger entry, placing ten thousand dollars to the credit of my stock account. These were negotiable securities, and were placed in the private compartment of the safe. I clearly recall that they were delivered to me, personally, by the messenger of 'Pond & Co.,' who bought the bonds. I counted these securities, ten one thousand dollar bonds, and replaced them in the manilla cover. Today I open the package and find — look for yourself, Harris."

      Mechanically, Nathaniel fingered the package; nothing but a copy of an old daily paper. On the cover, in the stiff handwriting of Mr. Sampson, were the words, "Ten One Thousand Dollar Denver City School Bonds." It seemed to the book-keeper that he could not speak; Stanley's face became as pale as if carved in chalk. At last Nathaniel managed to ask, "You do not suspect anyone in the office, Mr. Sampson?" "I cannot say that I suspect anyone," said Mr. Sampson; "but, of course you should know about this matter. The firm, Mr. Harris, will make a rigid, a very rigid, investigation; we shall employ the best detective talent, and we know that we can count on your aid."

      Nathaniel returned to his desk, but he could not see the clear entries on his books; a dim picture floated between his eyes and the page. A figure in a looking glass was taking a package from a safe and placing it in a black valise; another fleeting lantern slide of memory showed a little girl in a dainty bed, a faint perfume seemed a part of the dissolving view, and he heard, "Dear Tharris, I love you muchly." The old man waked from his dream, and the ledger page had two or three drops of water upon its surface.

      On the following morning, a clear-eyed, slender man of middle age stood before Nathaniel's window, through which he daily transacted business for his employers. He did not need to be told that this was the dreaded detective.

      An extended conference took place in the inner office, and Nathaniel hoped that he would not be compelled to testify. He could have wept when the staccato voice of Mr. Sampson requested him to come into the room.

      As he entered, he saw that Mr. Stanley was much excited.

      "Mr. Sampson," said Stanley, rising from his chair, "you must allow me to retire; the opinions expressed before Mr. Harris came in, must be my excuse."

      "No, sir," said Mr. Sampson, "I cannot allow you to leave the room; the questions which this gentleman must ask, must be asked in the presence of both members of the firm."

      "Then sir," said the young man, "I protest against the examination of this upright old servant of the house."

      "Nevertheless," said the senior partner, "every employe must submit to the fullest interrogation that can be given. Be seated, gentlemen; and Mr. Balfour," he said, motioning to the detective, "you may proceed."

      "Mr. Balfour looked steadily into Nathaniel's face. "Mr. Harris," he said, "I must ask you to go back in your memory to the evening of November second. Do you remember anything out of the ordinary about that evening?"

      "I remember nothing whatever about that evening," said Nathaniel stoutly.

      "Well," said Mr. Balfour, "perhaps I can assist you. On that evening, you played at a musical in Tenth street; afterwards, you returned to this office, and left here about half past eleven o'clock. Did anything out of the ordinary fix that day on your memory?"

      Nathaniel looked steadily at his questioner; and as he looked, the bare walls of the office faded and he saw a laughing little face.

      "You do not answer me, Mr. Harris. Do you, or do you not, remember the day in question?"

      The old face had a look of horror on it. He did not know his own voice as he forced himself to reply. "Yes, I remember that night. My trial balance would not prove. I returned after the musical and found the error. I remember nothing further concerning the events of that day."

      "I think, Mr. Harris, that I will question you no further," said Mr. Balfour.

      "And I think, Mr. Sampson," said Frank Stanley, "that this has been an outrageous proceeding."

      "Mr. Harris," said Mr. Sampson, "may return to his books; and Mr. Stanley, I am very sure that you will regret the words which you have allowed yourself to use."

      The remainder of the day dragged miserably for Nathaniel. That the detective and Mr. Sampson connected him with the disappearance of the bonds was terrible; but that was not the worst: Who was the guilty one? Could it be the man in the mirror? And how to save this man if this were so? There was one way. He was an old man; it did not much matter how he spent the rest of his days. It was better that he should suffer than to have sorrow come to those he loved.

      He sat on his high stool long after all had left the office; a rigid statue of sorrow, pride, and brave resolution. Late that night an old man let himself out from a boarding-house in Second avenue; he carried a large valise and a violin case. It was Nathaniel. He wandered uncertainly for a time, and then disappeared in the narrow streets below Washington Square.

      A spruce, young book-keeper sat on Nathaniel's high stool, and the ledgers showed vertical entries in the place of the clear, sloping names that had been Nathaniel's pride.

      Mr. Sampson believed that the old book-keeper took the bonds, and yet there were certain things that he could not understand. "Mr. Stanley," said he, to his young partner, "Why did Harris wait until his theft was discovered before he fled? That I cannot understand."

      "Mr. Sampson," replied Frank Stanley, "the old man never took the bonds; he was heart-broken at the suspicion cast upon him, and went away to hide his grief."

      "I do not agree with you," replied the senior partner; "men do not commit business suicide for such a reason. But the detectives have found out nothing, and I must say were singularly careless to let Harris escape them; I shall charge the account as a loss, and, if possible, forget the matter."

      On a morning several months after the last entry on "Sampson & Co.'s" books had been made with Nathaniel's gold pen, Mr. Sampson's private telephone bell rang with more than ordinary distinctness. It almost seemed as if the instrument knew that it was about to give Mr. Sampson a surprise.

      "Is this Mr, Sampson?" asked the telephone. "This is Pond. Will you look at package, Denver City School Bonds delivered on November first?"

      Mr. Sampson was astonished; the loss of the bonds had not been told to anyone outside the office.

      "We have looked," he stated to the telephone.

      "Then," said the instrument, "are they all right?"

      "Hardly," replied Mr. Sampson, "but I will call to see you at once about the matter."

      Mr. Sampson was alone when the message came; when he returned from his interview with "Pond & Co.," Mr. Stanley was in the office.

      Mr. Sampson, red-faced and agitated, looked for a moment at Stanley, as if what he had to say was choking him; then he blurted out, "Stanley, there is an old saying that 'an old fool is the biggest fool.' Stanley, I am worse than a fool; I am a miserable old fraud; a hypocritical, bald-headed idiot. Do you hear, Stanley? That is what I am and a great deal more."

      Stanley really thought that the dignified senior partner was insane, but before ne could shout for aid, Mr. Sampson continued:

      "Here are those pestiferous old bonds!" And he threw the package on the desk of the astonished Stanley, where they promptly continued their work of mischief by upsetting the inkstand.

      "Yes, sir," shouted Mr. Sampson; "I was never the man to do things by halves, and I confess to you —"

      "I hear you," said Stanley, "and I hope that the men outside won't think we are fighting."

      "Don't interrupt me," continued the excited man, "I say that I confess that I made a mistake, and never looked into that package; simply wrote on the envelope what I thought it contained. The clerk at Pond's — he should be discharged — filed the bonds in their newspaper reference cabinet; we received the newspaper."

      "And poor old Harris?" gasped Stanley.

      "He must be found, sir," answered Mr. Sampson; "he must be found if this firm spends every cent it is worth."

      Weeks had passed "Sampson & Co." had advertised in every newspaper in the country; they had employed the best detective service; but Nathaniel Harris had not been found.

      On a warm evening in April, Frank Stanley was with his little daughter in Central Park. Stanley watched the dissolving splendors of the western sky, while Gertie wheeled her doll back and forth along the path. Startled by a cry from his daughter, Stanley turned his eyes in her direction. She was running after an old man, and as she ran, she called, "Stop, Tharris! Please stop, Tharris!"

      Leaping to his feet, Stanley joined in the pursuit. "Harris! Harris!" he shouted, "Mr. Sampson has found the bonds!"

      The flying man stopped, and in a moment Gertie's fair hair was close to the white head.

      "Dearest Tharris," sobbed the child, "Why did you run?"

      "Because," said the old book-keeper, holding the little girl tightly in his arms, and looking at Stanley, "because I am an old fool."

      "And that," said Stanley, "is just what Sampson said when he found the bonds."