"Well," I says, "the case does look black; but mebbe you could settle for a mere five thousand dollars." "It wouldn't be a mere five thousand dollars," says Homer; "it would be the savings of a lifetime of honest toil and watching the pennies. That's all I got." "Serves you right, then," I says, "for not having got married years ago and having little ones of your own about your knee!" Homer shuddered painfully when I said this. He started to answer something back, but just choked up and couldn't. The adventuress had, of course, sent letters and messages to Homer. The early ones had been pleading, but the last one wasn't. It was more in the nature of a base threat if closely analyzed. Then she finished up her sewing at the Mortimers' and departed for Red Gap, leaving a final announcement to anybody it concerned that she would now find out if there was any law in the land to protect a defenseless woman in her sacred right to motherhood. Homer shivered when he heard it and begun to think of making another get-away, like he had done from Idaho. He thought more about it when someone come back from town and said she was really consulting a lawyer. He'd of gone, I guess, if Minna hadn't kept cheering him up with sympathy and hating children with him. Homer was one desperate man, but still he couldn't tear himself away from Minna. Then one morning he gets a letter from the Red Gap lawyer. It says his client, Mrs. Judson Tolliver, has directed him to bring suit against Homer for five thousand dollars; and would Homer mebbe like to save the additional cost--which would be heavy, of course--by settling the matter out of court and avoiding pain for all? Homer was in a state where he almost fell for this offer. It was that or facing a jury that would have it in for him, anyway, or disappearing like he had done in Idaho; only this lady was highly determined, and reports had already come to him that he would be watched and nailed if he tried to leave. It would mean being hounded from pillar to post, even if he did get away. He went down and put it up to Minna, as I heard later. "I'm a desperate man," he says, "being hounded by this here catamount; and mebbe it's best to give in." "It's outrageous!" says Minna. "Of course you don't care about the money; but it's the principle of the thing." "Well, yes and no," says Homer. "You might say I care some about the money. That's plain nature, and I never denied I was human." So they went on to discuss it back and forth warmly, when a misunderstanding arose that I was very careful to get the rights of a couple of weeks later. Minna went over the old ground that Homer could never get a fair trial; then she brightened up all at once and says: "Don't you pay it. Don't you do it; because you won't have to if you do what I say." Homer gets excited and says: "Yes, yes; go on!" And Minna goes on. "When people can't get fair trials in a place," she says, "they always take change of venues."