“Well, she has no suit pending against us now. She refused to let Sheldrake take the case up to a higher court, or even to move for a new trial. I understand she told him she never wanted to see his face again. And Westgate said the other day that it was too late for her to do anything more, even if she should change her mind about it.”
The president mused for a moment before replying. Finally he said:
“As the woman seems to have come to her senses, and is probably in need, I suppose we might do as we have done in other cases. I never laid the blame for the suit on her, anyway. It was that ambulance-chaser of a lawyer that put her up to it.”
“That’s very true, father. What shall we give her?”
“Let’s see! What did we give McAndrew’s widow when he died?”
“Two hundred and fifty dollars. I know because I took the check to her myself, and she was so grateful she tried to kiss me. Gad!”
Barry felt cold shivers running over him now as he recalled his narrow escape from the proposed osculatory embrace of the unattractive and slatternly but grateful widow of the deceased workingman.
Mr. Malleson’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
“I remember the circumstance,” he said, and added: “Perhaps Mrs. Bradley will be similarly grateful.”
Barry leaned back in his chair and thrust his hands into his pockets.