“I hope,” said Sue, anxiously, “the villain won’t hurt Phoebe.”
“Pshaw!” returned Don, with scorn, “villains never amount to anything; they’re only put in a play to be knocked out in the last round.”
Mrs. Ritchie was hoeing that afternoon in her vegetable garden, which adjoined the spacious farmhouse where she resided. She was attired in a faded calico dress and a weatherworn sunbonnet, and her heavy leather shoes were rusty and clogged by constant contact with the soil.
There were several servants upon the plantation, and they were afforded an excellent example of industry by their mistress, who “worked like a hired man” herself and made everyone around her labor just as energetically.
The arrival of Lawyer Kellogg on his bicycle, which he had ridden over from Riverdale, did not interrupt Mrs. Ritchie’s task. She merely gave her attorney an ungracious nod and said: “Well?”
“I’ve come over to see you about the trial,” he announced. “It begins next Thursday, at Bayport, and I must know exactly what you want to do about Toby Clark.”
“Give him a long sentence--the longer the better.”
“He is sure to get that if we prove him guilty.”
“Any trial is uncertain, Mrs. Ritchie,” said he. “Unexpected things are liable to happen to change the probable verdict. I think we have enough evidence against Toby to prove our case, but those terrible children have greatly influenced popular opinion by means of their parades and we can’t tell who the jury will be, or whether we can depend on them.”
“Can’t the jury be fixed?” asked the woman, after some thought.
“It would cost a lot of money, and it isn’t a safe thing to do,” returned her lawyer, standing beside her as she hoed. “And that reminds me to speak of my own expenses and fees.”
“You promised me a hundred dollars if I recovered the contents of your box. I’ve returned to you all your money, bonds and papers; but you haven’t paid me yet.”
“One. I do not suppose you intend to withhold my money on that account.”
“Because I should then sue you for it and the court would award me damages.”
“Do you want that matter of the box aired?” she asked.
“Do you want that will investigated--the paper which is missing?” he retorted.
“I’ll give you fifty dollars now, and fifty when you get that last paper,” said she.