And Mary with that quiet immovableness that sometimes takes possession of those gentle, pliable, unquestioning women, replied that she was sorry, but she wouldn’t sign the papers. She didn’t say why. She didn’t mention that the farm was running deeper into debt every year; that it was already proving more of an injury than a help to the children, and that in this remnant of her inheritance lay the only hope she had of ever giving them anything better. She just repeated slowly, a bit shakily, and looking down at the spout of her tea-pot, that she wouldn’t sign them.
And then Dan dropped his indulgent, protective attitude quite suddenly. He asked her “what in hell” she expected to do with the lot, then. Did she think she could look after it herself? She knew about as much about business
as a squaw. How was any woman to look after her interests in legal affairs where even a man had to keep his eyes open? And who would be expected to take care of such things for her if not her husband? He also enlarged upon a business man’s attitude toward women who cared to mix up in such things instead of keeping their place. Altogether he was very much annoyed over this unexpected check in his affairs. It was extremely humiliating to have to tell Harding that his wife, for sentimental reasons, didn’t want the lot sold; besides he needed the money. He had no doubt about getting it ultimately, of course. Several plans might be worked to that end, one of the most feasible being to take Billy out of school because there were no funds forthcoming to hire help. But even under the pressure of this, Mary was risking his further displeasure, and taking a venture that would have seemed madness to her a year ago.
The world seemed swimming around her when she entered the lawyer’s office, nervously tucking back the damp hair from her forehead, and painfully conscious of the years-old cut of her dress, the road-dust on her shoes, and her absolute ignorance of what to do. If the lawyer was surprised he didn’t show it. His practice was not very pressing in the sleepy little town, and he could afford time to put his clients at ease before proceeding to business.
“You mean,” he repeated when she had explained her errand, “that you have changed your mind about the lot; that you would like to see Harding this afternoon?”
She assented with inward panic at the thought of it. “Or would I need to see him? You couldn’t just—telephone him or something? I should be getting back, and I wanted to—it seems foolish—but I thought I would like to make my will.”
“I see. And you think if you had the lot turned into cash it would be easier to leave it as you want to? I’ll just ask Harding to come around. You feel that you know what the lot’s worth?”
“Why, I hadn’t thought much about that. Father paid five hundred for it, I think.”
“That was a long time ago. A dollar doesn’t go as far now. Do you remember just what Harding offered Mr. Withers this spring?”
“Six hundred.”