A kindly eyed, sad woman with a basket on her knee smiled upon Andrews with the familiarity of an old acquaintance.
“Is that woman going to get a divorce from my son,” she asked, “now that he’s in trouble?”
“Now that he’s in Sing Sing?” corrected Mr. Andrews. “I HOPE so! She deserves it. That son of yours, Mrs. Bernard,” he declared emphatically, “is no good!”
The brutality shocked Mr. Thorndike. For the woman he felt a thrill of sympathy, but at once saw that it was superfluous. From the secure and lofty heights of motherhood, Mrs. Bernard smiled down upon the assistant district attorney as upon a naughty child. She did not even deign a protest. She continued merely to smile. The smile reminded Thorndike of the smile on the face of a mother in a painting by Murillo he had lately presented to the chapel in the college he had given to his native town.
“That son of yours,” repeated young Andrews, “is a leech. He’s robbed you, robbed his wife. Best thing I ever did for YOU was to send him up the river.”
The mother smiled upon him beseechingly.
“Could you give me a pass?” she said.
Young Andrews flung up his hands and appealed to Thorndike.
“Isn’t that just like a mother?” he protested. “That son of hers has broken her heart, tramped on her, cheated her; hasn’t left her a cent; and she comes to me for a pass, so she can kiss him through the bars! And I’ll bet she’s got a cake for him in that basket!”
The mother laughed happily; she knew now she would get the pass.