McGaw sat next to Dempsey. His extreme nervousness of a few days ago—starting almost at the sound of his own footstep—had given place to a certain air of bravado1, now that everybody in the village believed the horse had kicked Tom.
Babcock and Tom were by the window, she listless and weary, he alert and watchful2 for the slightest point in her favor. She had on her brown dress, washed clean of the blood-stains, and the silk hood3, which better concealed4 the bruises5. All her old fire and energy were gone. It was not from the shock of her wound,—her splendid constitution was fast healing that,—but from this deeper hurt, this last thrust of McGaw's which seemed to have broken her indomitable spirit.
Babcock, although he did not betray his misgivings6, was greatly worried over the outcome of McGaw's latest scheme. He wished in his secret heart that Tom had signed her own name to the contract. He was afraid so punctilious7 a man as the judge might decide against her. He had never seen him; he only knew that no other judge in his district had so great a reputation for technical rulings.
When the judge entered—a small, gray-haired, keen-eyed man in a black suit, with gold spectacles, spotless linen8, and clean-shaven face—Babcock's fears were confirmed. This man, he felt, would be legally exact, no matter who suffered by his decision.
Rowan opened the case, the judge listening attentively9, looking over his glasses. Rowan recounted the details of the advertisement, the opening of the bids, the award of the contract, the signing of “Thomas Grogan” in the presence of the full board, and the discovery by his “honored client that no such man existed, had not existed for years, and did not now exist.”
“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 impudent10 effrontery11 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 assent12, and then she answered:—
“I allus signed it so since he left me.”
There was a pleading, tender pathos13 in her words that startled Babcock. He could hardly believe the voice to be Tom's.
The judge looked at her with a quick, penetrating14 glance, which broadened into an expression of kindly15 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. The taps could be heard all over the room. Most men kept quiet in Bowker's presence, even men like Rowan. For some moments his Honor bent16 over the desk and carefully examined the signed contract spread out before him; then he pushed it back, and glanced about the room.
“Is Mr. Crane, the bondsman, present?”
“Mr. Crane has gone West, sir,” said Babcock, rising. “I represent Mrs. Grogan in this matter.”
“Did Mr. Crane sign this bond knowing that Mrs. Grogan would haul the stone?”
“He did; and I can add that all her checks, receipts, and correspondence are signed in the same way, and have been for years. She is known everywhere as Tom Grogan. She has never had any other name—in her business.”
“Who else objects to this award?” said the judge calmly.
Rowan sprang to his feet. The judge looked at him.
“Please sit down, Justice Rowan. I said 'who else.' I have heard you.” He knew Rowan.
Dempsey jumped from his chair.
“I'm opposed to it, yer Honor, an' so is all me fri'nds here. This woman has been invited into the union, and treats us as if we was dogs. She”—
“Are you a bidder18 for this work?” asked the judge.
“No, sir; but the union has rights, and”—
“Please take your seat; only bidders19 can be heard now.”
“But who's to stand up for the rights of the laborin' man if”—
“You can, if you choose; but not here. This is a question of evidence.”
“Who's Bowker anyhow?” said Dempsey behind his hand to Quigg. “Ridin' 'round in his carriage and chokin' off free speech?” After some moments of thought the judge turned to the president of the board, and said in a measured, deliberate voice:—
“This signature, in my opinion, is a proper one. No fraud is charged, and under the
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