Squire Phin looked at him steadily for a time, then pulled down a letter file and began to search it. When he had found the papers he held them and gazed at his client, knotting his eyebrows. “I didn’t call you up here to talk about your bills,” he said, “but now that we are on the subject I’m going to ask you something, Bradish. Why is it that, after I’ve collected and put in your hands almost ten thousand dollars in the last few weeks--from men to whom you had promised longer time--you are still driving me to take the very heart’s blood out of these poor devils? Can’t you wait a few weeks?” Bradish brought his foot to the floor. “I suppose it’s a regular thing for a lawyer to ram his nose into a man’s business and twist it clear to the bottom, hey?” “I don’t know as I ever asked another client such a question,” rejoined the Squire, coldly, “because I don’t usually have a client who wants me to go to a debtor with an auger and a blood-pump when the poor chap is down and helpless.” “Then I’ll tell you, Look,” said Bradish, leaning forward with mock appearance of confiding the truth; “it’s none of your infernal business. Give me those papers. I know of a man that can collect them.” “And I know a man that will,” returned the Squire, “and collect them without making women and children go hungry while their men folks are in jail.” He sat down at the table, pulled a long wallet from his pocket and began counting money from a thick packet of banknotes. “Receipt those bills,” he said curtly. Bradish hesitated a moment, his anger prompting him to refuse the money from this source. But evidently his anxiety to secure his cash overmastered the grudge. He scrawled his name across the papers and took the banknotes. “Circus money, eh?” he sneered, unable to resist the impulse to make the fling. “I heard that Hiram has been squaring himself with you.” He began counting the money. “Now there’s no more business between us, Brad-ish,” said the lawyer as his client buttoned his coat. “I hope not,” retorted Bradish. “Only this,” pursued the Squire; “I may guess what you’re collecting your money for and shortening financial sail in town, and I may not. No matter! But I want to tell you, King Bradish, that from this time out you are going to leave Damaris Mayo to her husband.” Again he propped himself on the table and leaned forward. The charge came so unexpectedly that the man’s florid face grew pale and then as suddenly flushed crimson, as he stammered oaths, seeking emphasis for his denial. The Squire came around the table toward him and raised his hand. “Not a word--not a word more, Bradish,” he said, his composure perfect. “I married that boy and girl, and you can’t ruin that little home if I can prevent it--no, sir, you can’t!” Bradish strode to the door, but he drove his fists down at his sides with a gesture of impotent ire, whirled and came back close to the lawyer.