The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him. Paul Leicester Ford

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СКАЧАТЬ been inside those cow-sheds for four years."

      "Come and see me to-morrow," said Peter.

      After Dummer had gone, Peter walked uptown, and saw his clergyman.

      "Yes," he was told, "Mr. Bohlmann has always stood high in the church, and has been liberal and sensible with his money. I can't tell you how this whole thing has surprised and grieved me, Mr. Stirling. It must be terrible for his wife. His daughters, too, are such nice sweet girls. You've probably noticed them in church?"

      "No," Peter had not noticed them. He did not add that he did not notice young girls—that for some reason they had not interested him since—since—

      "Where does he live?" inquired Peter.

      "Not ten blocks from here," replied Dr. Purple, and named the street and number.

      Peter looked at his watch and, thanking the clergyman, took his leave. He did not go back to his office, but to the address, and asked for Mr. Bohlmann. A respectable butler showed him into a handsome parlor and carried his name to the brewer.

      There were already two girls in the room. One was evidently a caller. The other, a girl with a sweet, kindly, German face, was obviously one of the "nice" daughters. His arrival checked the flow of conversation somewhat, but they went on comparing their summer experiences. When the butler came back and said aloud, "Mr. Bohlmann will see you in the library, Mr. Stirling," Peter noticed that both girls turned impulsively to look at him, and that the daughter flushed red.

      He found Mr. Bohlmann standing uneasily on the rug by the fireplace, and a stout woman gazing out of the window, with her back to the room.

      "I had a call from your lawyer this morning, Mr. Bohlmann," said Peter, "and I have taken the liberty of coming to see you about the cases."

      "Sid down, sid down," said his host, nervously, though not sitting himself.

      Peter sat down. "I want to do what is best about the matter," he said.

      The woman turned quickly to look at him, and Peter saw that there were tears in her eyes.

      "Vell," said the brewer, "what is dat?"

      "I don't know," said Peter, "and that's why I've come to see you."

      Mr. Bohlmann's face worked for a moment. Then suddenly he burst into tears. "I give you my word, Mr. Stirling," he said, "that I didn't know it was so. I haven't had a happy moment since you spoke that day in court." He had heretofore spoken in English with a slight German accent. But this he said in German. He sat down at the table and buried his face in his arms. His wife, who was also weeping, crossed to him, and tried to comfort him by patting him on the back.

      "I think," said Peter, "we had best drop the suits."

      Mr. Bohlmann looked up. "It is not the money, Mr. Stirling," he said, still speaking in German. "See." He drew from a drawer in his desk a check-book, and filling up a check, handed it to Peter. It was dated and signed, but the amount was left blank. "There," he said, "I leave it to you what is right."

      "I think Mr. Dummer will feel we have not treated him fairly," said Peter, "if we settle it in this way."

      "Do not think of him. I will see that he has no cause for complaint," the brewer said. "Only let me know it is ended, so that my wife and my daughters—" he choked, and ended the sentence thus.

      "Very well," said Peter. "We'll drop the suits."

      The husband and wife embraced each other in true German fashion.

      Peter rose and came to the table. "Three of the cases were for five thousand each, and the other two were for two thousand each," he said, and then hesitated. He wished to be fair to both sides. "I will ask you to fill in the check for eight thousand dollars. That will be two each for three, and one each for two."

      Mr. Bohlmann disengaged himself from his wife, and took his pen. "You do not add your fee," he said.

      "I forgot it," laughed Peter, and the couple laughed with him in their happiness. "Make it for eight thousand, two hundred and fifty."

      "Och," said the brewer once more resuming his English. "Dat is too leedle for vive cases."

      "No," said Peter. "It was what I had decided to charge in case I got any damages."

      So the check was filled in, and Peter, after a warm handshake from both, went back to his office.

      "Dat iss a fine yoong mahn," said the brewer.

CHAPTER XVII.

       Table of Contents

A NEW FRIEND.

       Table of Contents

      The day after this episode, Peter had the very unusual experience of a note by his morning's mail. Except for his mother's weekly letter, it was the first he had received since Watts had sailed, two years before. For the moment he thought that it must be from him, and the color came into his face at the mere thought that he would have news of—of—Watts. But a moment's glance at the writing showed him he was wrong, and he tore the envelope with little interest in his face. Indeed after he had opened it, he looked at his wall for a moment before he fixed his mind on it.

      It contained a brief note, to this effect:

      "A recent trial indicates that Mr. Stirling needs neither praise not reward as incentives for the doing of noble deeds.

      "But one who prefers to remain unknown cannot restrain her grateful thanks to Mr. Stirling for what he did; and being debarred from such acts herself, asks that at least she may be permitted to aid him in them by enclosing a counsel fee for 'the case of the tenement children of New York against the inhumanity of men's greed.'

      "September third."

      Peter looked at the enclosure, and found it was a check for five hundred dollars. He laid it on his desk, and read the note over again. It was beyond question written by a lady. Every earmark showed that, from the delicate scent of the paper, to the fine, even handwriting. Peter wanted to know who she was. He looked at the check to see by whom it was signed; to find that it was drawn by the cashier of the bank at which it was payable.

      Half an hour later, a rapid walk had brought him to the bank the name of which was on the check. It was an uptown one, which made a specialty of family and women's accounts. Peter asked for the cashier.

      "I've called about this check," he said, when that official materialized, handing the slip of paper to him.

      "Yes," said the cashier kindly, though with a touch of the resigned sorrow in his voice which cashiers of "family's" and women's banks acquire. "You must sign your name on the back, on the left-hand end, and present it to the paying-teller, over at that window. You'll have to be identified if the paying-teller doesn't know you."

      "I don't want the money," said Peter, "I want to know who sent the check to me?"

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