"I'm sorry for that," said Peter quietly.

Miss De Voe caught her breath again. "Good-afternoon," she said, holding out her hand. "I shall hope to see you."

"Good-bye," said Peter, and the next moment was walking towards his office.

Miss De Voe stood for a moment thinking. "That was curious," she thought, "I wonder if he intends to come?"

The next evening she was dining with relatives in one of the fashionable summering places, and was telling them about her call "from Mr.

Stirling, the lawyer who made that splendid speech."

"I thought," she said, "when I received the message, that I was going to be buried under a bathos of thanks, or else have my gift declined with the expectation that I would gush over the disinterestedness of the refusal. Since I couldn't well avoid seeing him, I was quite prepared to snub him, or to take back the money without a word. But he wasn't a bit that kind of creature. He isn't self-a.s.sured nor tonguey--rather the reverse. I liked him so, that I forced him to stay to luncheon, and made him tell me a good deal about himself, without his knowing I was doing so. He leads a very unusual life, without seeming conscious that he does, and he tells about it very well. Uses just the right word every time, so that you know exactly what he means, without taxing your own brain to fill up blanks. He has such a nice voice too. One that makes you certain of the absolute truth underneath. No. He isn't good looking, though he has fine eyes, and hair. His face and figure are both too heavy."

"Is he a gentleman, cousin Anneke?" asked one of the party.

"He is a little awkward, and over-blunt at moments, but nothing to which one would give a second thought. I was so pleased with him that I asked him to call on me."

"It seems to me," said another, "that you are over-paying him."

"That was the most curious part," replied Miss De Voe. "I'm not at all sure that he means to come. It was really refreshing not to be truckled to, but it is rather startling to meet the first man who does not want to win his way to my visiting list. I don't think he even knows who Miss De Voe is."

"He will find out quick enough," laughed a girl, "and then he will do what they all do."

"No," said Miss De Voe. "I suspect it will make no difference. He isn't that kind, I think. I really am curious to see if I have to ask him a second time. It will be the only case I can remember. I'm afraid, my dears, your cousin is getting to be an old woman."

Peter, had in truth, met, and spent over four hours in the company of a woman whom every one wished to know. A woman equally famous for her lineage, her social position, her wealth and her philanthropy. It would not have made any difference, probably, had he known it, though it might have increased his awkwardness a little. That he was not quite as unconscious as Miss De Voe seemed to think, is shown by a pa.s.sage in a letter he wrote to his mother:

"She was very much interested in the case, and asked a good many questions about it, and about myself. Some which I would rather not have answered, but since she asked them I could not bring myself to dodge them. She asked me to come and see her again. It is probably nothing but a pa.s.sing interest, such as this cla.s.s feel for the moment."--[Then Peter carefully inked out "such as this cla.s.s feel for the moment," and reproved himself that his bitterness at--at--at one experience, should make him condemn a whole cla.s.s]--"but if she asks me again I shall go, for there is something very sweet and n.o.ble about her. I think she is probably some great personage."

Later on in the letter he wrote:

"If you do not disapprove, I will put this money in the savings bank, in a special or trustee account, and use it for any good that I can do for the people about here. I gave the case my service, and do not think I am ent.i.tled to take pay when the money can be so much better employed for the benefit of the people I tried to help."

CHAPTER XVIII.

ANOTHER CLIENT.

Peter had seen his clients on the morning following the settlement of the cases, and told them of their good fortune. They each had a look at Bohlmann's check, and then were asked how they would like their shares.

"Sure," said Dooley, "Oi shan't know what to do wid that much money."

"I think," said Peter, "that your two thousand really belongs to the children."

"That it does," said Mrs. Dooley, quite willing to deprive her husband of it, for the benefit of her children.

"But what shall Oi do wid it?" asked Mr. Dooley.

"I'd like Mr. Stirling to take charge of mine," said Blackett.

"That's the idea," said Dooley.

And so it was settled by all. Peter said the best thing would be to put it in the savings bank. "Perhaps later we'll find something better."

They all went around to a well-known inst.i.tution on the Bowery, and Peter interviewed the cashier. It proved feasible to endorse over the check to the bank, and credit the proper share to each.

"I shall have to ask you to give me the odd two hundred and fifty,"

Peter said, "as that is my legal fee."

"You had better let me put that in your name, Mr. Stirling?" said the president, who had been called into the consultation.

"Very well," said Peter. "I shall want some of it before long, but the rest will be very well off here." So a book was handed him, and the president shook him by the hand with all the warmth that eight thousand two hundred and fifty dollars of increased a.s.sets and four new depositors implied.

Peter did not need to draw any of the two hundred and fifty dollars, however. In November he had another knock at his door.

It proved to be Mr. Dennis Moriarty, of whom we have incidentally spoken in connection with the half-price drinks for the Milligan wake, and as spokesman of the torchlight procession.

"Good-mornin' to yez, sir," said the visitor.

It was a peculiarity of Peter's that he never forgot faces. He did not know Mr. Moriarty's name, never having had it given him, but he placed him instantly.

"Thank you," said Peter, holding out his hand. Peter did not usually shake hands in meeting people, but he liked the man's face. It would never take a prize for beauty. The hair verged on a fiery red, the nose was a real sky-sc.r.a.per and the upper lip was almost proboscidian in its length. But every one liked the face.

"It's proud Oi'm bein' shakin' the hand av Misther Stirling," said the Irishman.

"Sit down," said Peter.

"My name's Moriarty, sir, Dinnis Moriarty, an' Oi keeps a saloon near Centre Street, beyant."

"You were round here in the procession."

"Oi was, sir. Shure, Oi'm not much at a speech, compared to the likes av yez, but the b'ys would have me do it."

Peter said something appropriate, and then there was a pause.

"Misther Stirling," finally said Moriarty, "Oi was up before Justice Gallagher yesterday, an' he fined me bad. Oi want yez to go to him, an'

get him to be easier wid me. It's yezself can do it."

"What were you fined for?" asked Peter.

"For bein' open on Sunday."

"Then you ought to be fined."

"Don't say that till Oi tell yez. Oi don't want to keep my place open, but it's in my lease, an' so Oi have to."

"In your lease?" enquired Peter.