Peter sat down. “I want to do what is best about the matter,” he said.
The woman turned quickly to look at him, and Peter saw that there were tears in her eyes.
“Vell,” said the brewer, “what is dat?”
“I don’t know,” said Peter, “and that’s why I’ve come to see you.”
Mr. Bohlmann’s face worked for a moment. Then suddenly he burst into tears. “I give you my word, Mr. Stirling,” he said, “that I didn’t know it was so. I haven’t had a happy moment since you spoke that day in court.” He had heretofore spoken in English with a slight German accent. But this he said in German. He sat down at the table and buried his face in his arms. His wife, who was also weeping, crossed to him, and tried to comfort him by patting him on the back.
“I think,” said Peter, “we had best drop the suits.”
Mr. Bohlmann looked up. “It is not the money, Mr. Stirling,” he said, still speaking in German. “See.” He drew from a drawer in his desk a check-book, and filling up a check, handed it to Peter. It was dated and signed, but the amount was left blank. “There,” he said, “I leave it to you what is right.”
“I think Mr. Dummer will feel we have not treated him fairly,” said Peter, “if we settle it in this way.”
“Do not think of him. I will see that he has no cause for complaint,” the brewer said. “Only let me know it is ended, so that my wife and my daughters—” he choked, and ended the sentence thus.
“Very well,” said Peter. “We’ll drop the suits.”