"Very well. And as for what I have said about you, I take back everything--except----" He paused; she saw disapprobation in his eyes. "Except the plain truth I told you that being a lawyer is no work for a woman." "You are very dogmatic!" said she hotly. "I am very right," he returned. "Excuse my saying it, but you appear to have too many good qualities as a woman to spoil it all by going out of your sphere and trying----" "Why--why----" She stood gasping. "Do you know what your uncle told me about you?" "Old Hosie?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Hosie's an old fool!" "He said that the trouble with you was that you had not been thrashed enough as a boy. And he was right, too!" She turned quickly to the door, but he stepped before her. "Don't get mad because of a little truth. Remember, I want to help you." "I think," said she, "that we're better suited to fight each other than to help each other. I'm not so sure I want your help." "I'm not so sure you can avoid taking it," he retorted. "This isn't your father's case alone. It's the city's case, too, and I've got a right to mix in. Now do you want me?" She looked at him a moment. "I'll think it over. For the present, good afternoon." He hesitated, then held out his hand. She hesitated, then took it. After which, he opened the door for her and bowed her out. CHAPTER IX THE PRICE OF A MAN When, half an hour before, Katherine walked with bowed head out of Harrison Blake's office, Blake gazed fixedly after her for a moment, and his face, now that he was private, deepened its sickly, ashen hue. Then he strode feverishly up and down the room, lips twitching nervously, hands clinching and unclinching. Then he unlocked a cabinet against the wall, poured out a drink from a squat, black bottle, gulped it down, and returned the bottle, forgetting to close the cabinet. After which he dropped into his chair, gripped his face in his two hands, and sat at his desk breathing deeply, but otherwise without motion. Presently his door opened. "Mr. Brown is here to see you," announced a voice. He slowly raised his head, and stared an instant at his stenographer in dumfounded silence. "Mr. Brown!" he repeated. "Yes," said the young woman. He continued to stare at her in sickly stupefaction. "Shall I tell him you'll see him later?" "Show him in," said Blake. "But, no--wait till I ring." He passed his hand across his moist and pallid face, paced his room again several times, then touched a button and stood stiffly erect beside his desk. The next moment the door closed behind a short, rather chubby man with an egg-shell dome and a circlet of grayish hair. He had eyes that twinkled with good fellowship and a cheery, fatherly manner. "Well, well, Mr. Blake; mighty glad to see you!" he exclaimed as he crossed the room. Blake, still pale, but now with tense composure, took the hand of his visitor. "This is a surprise, Mr. Brown," said he. "How do you happen to be in Westville?"