Hezekiah arose to his feet and moved around until he stood opposite to his employer. “Keep out of court, Obadiah,” he warned him. “A jury will soak you in this kind of case. How far can I go in a compromise?” he concluded, perfunctorily.
“I won’t pay a cent,” roared Obadiah, flying into a rage. “They can’t bleed me.”
Hezekiah understood the manufacturer’s mood. He paused for a minute and then continued very calmly. “How about a couple of hundred dollars and hospital expenses?”
“No.”
“The fellow’s hospital expenses?” There was a persuasive note in the lawyer’s voice.
“No!” Obadiah’s face was flushed and set in its obstinacy.
“The man may be poor. He may have dependents who will be deprived of the actual necessities of life. It could easily be that suffering and want would arise from this little case.” There was a pleading note in Hezekiah’s voice and almost a look of entreaty upon his kindly face.
“I don’t give a hang,” snarled Obadiah. “That’s their bad luck, not mine.”
Yet, the attorney waited, silently watching the angry manufacturer thrust papers from side to side of his desk.
Finally he glanced up. His temper had worn itself out. “Fix it up for twenty-five dollars,” he snapped. “That’s my limit.”