“You can, if you choose; but not here. This is a question of evidence.”
“Who's Bowker anyhow?” said Dempsey behind his hand to Quigg. “Ridin' 'round in his carriage and chokin' off free speech?” After some moments of thought the judge turned to the president of the board, and said in a measured, deliberate voice:—
“This signature, in my opinion, is a proper one. No fraud is charged, and under the testimony none was intended. The law gives Mrs. Grogan the right to use any title she chooses in conducting her business—her husband's name, or any other. The contract must stand as it is.”
Here the judge arose and entered his private office, shutting the door behind him.
Tom had listened with eyes dilating, every nerve in her body at highest tension. Her contempt for Rowan in his abuse of her; her anger against Dempsey at his insults; her gratitude to Babcock as he stood up to defend her; her fears for the outcome, as she listened to the calm, judicial voice of the judge,—each producing a different sensation of heat and cold,—were all forgotten in the wild rush of joy that surged through her as the judge's words fell upon her ear. She shed no tears, as other women might have done. Every fibre of her being seemed to be turned to steel. She was herself again—she, Tom Grogan!—firm on her own feet, with her big arms ready to obey her, and her head as clear as a bell, master of herself, master of her rights, master of everything about her. And, above all, master of the dear name of her Tom that nothing could take from her now—not even the law!
With this tightening of her will power there quivered through her a sense of her own wrongs—the wrongs she had endured for years, the wrongs that had so nearly wrecked her life.
Then, forgetting the office, the still solemnity of the place—even Babcock—she walked straight up to McGaw, blocking his exit to the street door.
“Dan McGaw, there's a word I've got for ye before ye l'ave this place, an' I'm a-going to say it to ye now before ivery man in this room.”
McGaw shrank back in alarm.
“You an' I have known each other since the time I nursed yer wife when yer boy Jack was born, an' helped her through when she was near dyin' from a kick ye give her. Ye began yer dirty work on me one night when me Tom lay sick, an' I threw ye out o' me kitchen; an' since that time ye've”—