“I don’t know,” said Peter, “and that’s why I’ve come to see you.” Mr. Bohlmann’s face worked for a moment. Then suddenly he burst into tears. “I give you my word, Mr. Stirling,” he said, “that I didn’t know it was so. I haven’t had a happy moment since you spoke that day in court.” He had heretofore spoken in English with a slight German accent. But this he said in German. He sat down at the table and buried his face in his arms. His wife, who was also weeping, crossed to him, and tried to comfort him by patting him on the back. “I think,” said Peter, “we had best drop the suits.” Mr. Bohlmann looked up. “It is not the money, Mr. Stirling,” he said, still speaking in German. “See.” He drew from a drawer in his desk a check-book, and filling up a check, handed it to Peter. It was dated and signed, but the amount was left blank. “There,” he said, “I leave it to you what is right.” “I think Mr. Dummer will feel we have not treated him fairly,” said Peter, “if we settle it in this way.” “Do not think of him. I will see that he has no cause for complaint,” the brewer said. “Only let me know it is ended, so that my wife and my daughters—” he choked, and ended the sentence thus. “Very well,” said Peter. “We’ll drop the suits.” The husband and wife embraced each other in true German fashion. Peter rose and came to the table. “Three of the cases were for five thousand each, and the other two were for two thousand each,” he said, and then hesitated. He wished to be fair to both sides. “I will ask you to fill in the check for eight thousand dollars. That will be two each for three, and one each for two.” Mr. Bohlmann disengaged himself from his wife, and took his pen. “You do not add your fee,” he said. “I forgot it,” laughed Peter, and the couple laughed with him in their happiness. “Make it for eight thousand, two hundred and fifty.” “Och,” said the brewer once more resuming his English. “Dat is too leedle for vive cases.” “No,” said Peter. “It was what I had decided to charge in case I got any damages.” So the check was filled in, and Peter, after a warm handshake from both, went back to his office. “Dat iss a fine yoong mahn,” said the brewer. CHAPTER XVII. A NEW FRIEND. The day after this episode, Peter had the very unusual experience of a note by his morning’s mail. Except for his mother’s weekly letter, it was the first he had received since Watts had sailed, two years before. For the moment he thought that it must be from him, and the color came into his face at the mere thought that he would have news of—of—Watts. But a moment’s glance at the writing showed him he was wrong, and he tore the envelope with little interest in his face. Indeed after he had opened it, he looked at his wall for a moment before he fixed his mind on it. It contained a brief note, to this effect: “A recent trial indicates that Mr. Stirling needs neither praise not reward as incentives for the doing of noble deeds.