“I’m out of a job.”
“You mean you were discharged because you couldn’t get to work?”
“Good heavens, no! It was when Mr. Milbers passed away that my troubles started. I presumed you knew about that. But suppose you tell me who you are and what you want before we start talking.”
Bertha said, “I’m not from any insurance company. I can’t offer you a cent.”
Josephine Dell’s face showed disappointment. “I was hoping that you represented some insurance company.”
“I thought perhaps you were.”
“You see, when the man hit me, I didn’t think I was hurt at all. It gave me a pretty good shaking-up of course, but, good heavens, I was always trained to take things in my stride; and just as soon as I could catch my breath, I kept saying to myself, ‘Now, don’t be a crybaby. After all, there are no bones broken. You just got knocked over.’ ”
Bertha nodded sympathetically.
“And this young man was so nice. He was out of his automobile in a flash. He had his arm around me and was putting me into the car almost before I knew it. He kept insisting that I must go to a hospital at least for a check-up. I laughed at the idea, and then it occured to me perhaps he was doing it for his own protection, so I told him all right, I’d go. Well, after we got started, we began to chat, and I think I convinced him that I wasn’t hurt at all, and there wasn’t going to be any claim for damages. I told him I wasn’t going to even claim a dime. So he consented to take me home.”
Bertha’s nod was the sympathetic gesture which keeps confidences pouring out.