the death notice. He turned toward the man sitting at the desk across the room.
"Father," he said, "the time has come when we should do something for Mrs. Bradley."
The president of the Malleson Manufacturing Company did not look up from the work on which he was engaged, but he replied with a question:
"How's that?"
"Her husband died yesterday."
"Whose husband?"
"Mrs. Bradley's. The man against whom we won the suit. I shouldn't wonder if she might be financially embarrassed. It would be a fine opportunity to show that there is at least one corporation that has a soul."
The president was looking up from his papers now; hard-eyed, square-jawed, smooth-shaven, immaculate.
"We have no right to give away our stockholders' money," he said shortly.
"I know, father; but this is a case where we can afford to overstep the limits a little and be generous. Personally, and as vice-president of the company, I would recommend that a small gratuity be given to the woman on account of her husband's death. We have done as much when other employees have died."
"But the others did not bring suit against us."
"Well, she has no suit pending against us now. She refused to let Sheldrake take the case up to a higher court, or even to move for a new trial. I understand she told him she never wanted to see his face again. And Westgate said the other day that it was too late for her to do anything more, even if she should change her mind about it."
The president mused for a moment before replying. Finally he said:
"As the woman seems to have come to her senses, and is probably in need, I suppose we might do as we have done in other cases. I never laid the blame for
