the suit on her, anyway. It was that ambulance-chaser of a lawyer that put her up to it."
"That's very true, father. What shall we give her?"
"Let's see! What did we give McAndrew's widow when he died?"
"Two hundred and fifty dollars. I know because I took the check to her myself, and she was so grateful she tried to kiss me. Gad!"
Barry felt cold shivers running over him now as he recalled his narrow escape from the proposed osculatory embrace of the unattractive and slatternly but grateful widow of the deceased workingman.
Mr. Malleson's eyes twinkled mischievously.
"I remember the circumstance," he said, and added: "Perhaps Mrs. Bradley will be similarly grateful."
Barry leaned back in his chair and thrust his hands into his pockets.
"Well," he said, contemplatively, and in all seriousness, "I would think twice before declining a favor of that kind from Mrs. Bradley. She's a remarkably attractive woman."
The president did not dwell further on the subject. It may have been because of its incongruity; it may have been because of some undefined feeling of foreboding that crossed his mind at that moment.
"You may ask Page," he said, "to draw her a check for two hundred and fifty dollars. Tell him to run it through the expense account, and to put in the voucher a statement that it is received by Mrs. Bradley as a gratuity from this company."
"Yes, sir."
Barry rose with unusual alacrity, but before he reached the door his father called to him:
"A—Barry! Suppose you tell Page to make that four hundred instead of two fifty. There have been special hardships in this case, and the woman is undoubtedly capable of using the money judiciously."
