"
"Dead, your Honor"--throwing out his chest impressively, his voice
swelling--"dead in his grave these siven years, this Mr. Thomas
Grogan; and yet this woman has the bald and impudent effrontery
to"--
"That will do, Mr. Rowan."
Police justices--justices like Rowan--did not count much with
Judge Bowker, and then he never permitted any one to abuse a woman
in his presence.
"The point you make is that Mrs. Grogan had no right to sign her
name to a contract made out in the name of her dead husband."
"I do, your Honor," said Rowan, resuming his seat.
"Why did you sign it?" asked Judge Bowker, turning to Tom.
She looked at Babcock. He nodded assent, and then she answered:--
"I allus signed it so since he left me."
There was a pleading, tender pathos in her words that startled
Babcock. He could hardly believe the voice to be Tom's.
The judge looked at her with a quick, penetrating glance, which
broadened into an expression of kindly interest when he read her
entire honesty in her face. Then he turned to the president of
the board.
"When you awarded this contract, whom did you expect to do the
work, Mrs. Grogan or her husband.' "
"Mrs. Grogan, of course. She has done her own work for years,"
answered the president.
The judge tapped the arm of his chair with his pencil.
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