"What have you proved?"
"I have proved that this letter is a forgery, as I believed it was. It was translated into French this very day by the barber's daughter. It was not written by Marguerite, and I knew it was not!" replied Fitz, triumphantly; and he proceeded to describe in detail the result of his application to Maggie to translate the letter.
"It doesn't make much difference whether it is a forgery or not," added the poor woman, in whose mind ten thousand dollars overshadowed every other consideration.
"Doesn't it!" sneered Fitz, out of patience with his mother.
"Not much. Mr. Checkynshaw says Marguerite is living; and, whether he means to do right or wrong, he is a man of great wealth and influence, and we could make nothing by going to law with him. We haven't money enough to keep us out of the almshouse more than a fortnight longer."
"But don't I say we need no money to carry on the suit? All we have to do is to attach the property. Checkynshaw won't stand trial. He'll settle it; he'll give up the block of stores."
"You don't know him," sighed Mrs. Wittleworth.
"If I don't know him, I'd like to know who does. Haven't I been in the office with him for years? Choate couldn't attend to this business himself; but he recommended a lawyer, a friend of his, and I have been to see him. I am to call again to-morrow."
"I am willing to hear all that can be said, Fitz, on both sides," replied the poor woman, tired of the controversy, but still believing that "a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush." "I will go with you, and hear what your lawyer has to say."
"Go with me!" sneered Fitz. "Do you think I can't do the business alone?"