“Be silent, Josiah! Don't make a fool of yourself,” said his wife, in an imperious tone.
The poor man was fain to be silent, but the lawyer was indignant, and said: “Mr. Pinkerton, I will certainly not pay your legacy, nor your children's, to anyone but yourself. I will send Mrs. Pinkerton a check for her own share—one hundred dollars—since she desires it.”
“I insist upon your sending me the children's money also,” said the lady angrily. “He ain't fit to take charge of it.”
“You may insist as much as you like, Mrs. Pinkerton,” said the lawyer, coolly, “but it will be useless. As the head of the family, I shall send the money designed for the children to your husband.”
“Do you call him the head of the family?” demanded the angry Maria. “I would have you to know, sir, that I am the head of the family.”
“The law does not recognize you as such. As to the pantaloons, which form a part of the legacy, I will forward them to you, if you wish.”
“Do you mean to insult me, sir?” gasped Mrs. Pinkerton, growing very red in the face.
“Not at all; but they were left either to you or your husband, as you might jointly agree.”
The lady was about to decline accepting them at all, but it occurred to her that they might be made over to suit her husband, and so save the expense of a new pair, and, she directed that they should be sent to him.
Then, gathering her family about her, she strode majestically from the office, shaking off, metaphorically, the dust of her feet against it.