The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him by Paul Leicester Ford

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The press began, too, a crusade against the swill-milk dealers, and the
men who had allowed all this to be possible. "What is the Health Board
about, that poison for children can be sold in the public streets?"
"Where is the District Attorney, that prosecutions for the public good
have to be brought by public-spirited citizens?" they demanded.
Lynx-eyed reporters tracked the milk-supplies of the city, and though
the alarm had been given, and many cows had been hastily sent to the
country, they were able to show up certain companies, and print details
which were quite lurid enough, when sufficiently "colored" by their
skilful pens. Most residents of New York can remember the "swill-milk"
or "stump-tail milk" exposures and prosecutions of that summer, and of
the reformation brought about thereby in the Board of Health. As the
details are not pleasant reading, any one who does not remember is
referred to the daily press, and, if they want horrible pictures, to
Frank Leslie's Illustrated Weekly. Except for the papers, it is to be
questioned if Peter's case would have resulted in much more than the
punishment of the man actually convicted; but by the press taking the
matter up, the moment's indignation was deepened and intensified to a
degree which well-nigh swept every cow-stable off the island, and drove
the proper officials into an activity leading to great reforms.

No one was more surprised than Peter, at the sudden notoriety, or at the
far-reaching results. He collected the articles, and sent them to his
mother. He wrote:

"Don't think that this means any great start. In truth, I am a
hundred dollars the poorer for the case, and shall have to cut off
a few expenses for the rest of the year. I tell you this, because
I know you will not think for a moment that I grudge the money,
and you are not to spoil my trifling self-denial by any offer of
assistance You did quite enough in taking in those two little
imps. Were they very bad? Did they tramp on your flowers, and
frighten poor old Russet [Russet was the cat] out of his fast
waning lives? It was a great pleasure to me to see them so plump
and brown, and I thank you for it. Their testimony in court was
really amusing, though at the same time pathetic. People tell me
that my speech was a good one. What is more surprising, they tell
me that I made the prisoner, and Mr. Bohlmann, the brewer, who sat
next to Dummer, both cry. I confess I grieve over the fact that I
was not prosecuting Bohlmann. He is the real criminal, yet goes
scot free. But the moral effect is, I suppose, the important
thing, and any one to whom responsibility could be traced (and
convicted) gives us that. I find that Mr. Bohlmann goes to the
same church I attend!"

His mother was not surprised. She had always known her Peter was a hero,
and needed no "York papers" to teach her the fact. Still she read every
line of the case, and of the subsequent crusade. She read Peter's speech
again and again, stopping to sob at intervals, and hugging the clipping
to her bosom from time to time, as the best equivalent for Peter, while
sobbing: "My boy, my darling boy." Every one in the mill-town knew of
it, and the clippings were passed round among Peter's friends, beginning
with the clergyman and ending with his school-boy companions. They all
wondered why Peter had spoken so briefly. "If I could talk like that,"
said a lawyer to the proud mother, "I'd have spoken for a couple of
hours." Mrs. Stirling herself wished it had been longer. Four columns of
evidence, and only a little over a half column of speech! It couldn't
have taken him twenty minutes at the most. "Even the other lawyer, who
had nothing to say but lies, took over a column to his speech. And his
was printed close together, while that of Peter's was spread out (_e.g._
solid and leaded) making the difference in length all the greater." Mrs.
Stirling wondered if there could be a conspiracy against her Peter, on
the part of the Metropolitan press. She had promptly subscribed for a
year to the New York paper which glorified Peter the most, supposing
that from this time on his name would appear on the front page. When she
found it did not and that it was not mentioned in the press and Health
Board crusade against the other "swill-milk" dealers, she became
convinced that there was some definite attempt to rob Peter of his due
fame. "Why, Peter began it all," she explained, "and now the papers and
Health Board pretend it's all their doings." She wrote a letter to the
editor of the paper--a letter which was passed round the office, and
laughed over not a little by the staff. She never received an answer,
nor did the paper give Peter the more attention because of it.

Two days after the trial, Peter had another call from Dummer.

"You handled that case in great style, Mr. Stirling," he told Peter.
"You know the ropes as well as far older men. You got just the right
evidence out of your witnesses, and not a bit of superfluous rubbish.
That's the mistake most young men make. They bury their testimony in
unessential details, I tell you, those two children were worth all the
rest put together. Did you send them to the country on purpose to get
that kind of evidence?"

"No," said Peter.

"Well, every man in that jury was probably a father, and that child's
talk took right hold of them. Not but that your speech would have done
the business. You were mighty clever in just telling what you saw, and
not going into the testimony. You could safely trust the judge to do
that. It was a great speech."

"Thank you," said Peter.

"He's not to be taffied," thought the lawyer. "Plain talking's the way
to deal with him." He ended his allusions to the trial, and said: "Now,
Mr. Stirling, Mr. Bohlmann doesn't want to have these civil suits go any
further. Mr. Bohlmann's a man of respectability, with a nice wife and
some daughters. The newspapers are giving him quite enough music without
your dragging him into court."

"It's the only way I can reach him," said Peter.

"But you mustn't want to reach him. He's really a well-meaning man, and
if you ask your clergyman--for I believe you go to Dr. Purple's
church?--you'll find he's very charitable and generous with his money."

Peter smiled curiously. "Distributing money made that way is not much of
a charity."

"He didn't know," said the lawyer. Then catching a look which came into
Peter's face, he instantly added, "at least, he had no idea it was that
bad. He tells me that he hadn't been inside those cow-sheds for four
years."

"Come and see me to-morrow," said Peter.

After Dummer had gone, Peter walked uptown, and saw his clergyman.

"Yes," he was told, "Mr. Bohlmann has always stood high in the church,
and has been liberal and sensible with his money. I can't tell you how
this whole thing has surprised and grieved me, Mr. Stirling. It must be
terrible for his wife. His daughters, too, are such nice sweet girls.
You've probably noticed them in church?"

"No," Peter had not noticed them. He did not add that he did not notice
young girls--that for some reason they had not interested him
since--since--

"Where does he live?" inquired Peter.

"Not ten blocks from here," replied Dr. Purple, and named the street and
number.

Peter looked at his watch and, thanking the clergyman, took his leave.
He did not go back to his office, but to the address, and asked for Mr.
Bohlmann. A respectable butler showed him into a handsome parlor and
carried his name to the brewer.

There were already two girls in the room. One was evidently a caller.
The other, a girl with a sweet, kindly, German face, was obviously one
of the "nice" daughters. His arrival checked the flow of conversation
somewhat, but they went on comparing their summer experiences. When the
butler came back and said aloud, "Mr. Bohlmann will see you in the
library, Mr. Stirling," Peter noticed that both girls turned impulsively
to look at him, and that the daughter flushed red.

He found Mr. Bohlmann standing uneasily on the rug by the fireplace, and
a stout woman gazing out of the window, with her back to the room.

"I had a call from your lawyer this morning, Mr. Bohlmann," said Peter,
"and I have taken the liberty of coming to see you about the cases."

"Sid down, sid down," said his host, nervously, though not sitting
himself.

Peter sat down. "I want to do what is best about the matter," he said.

The woman turned quickly to look at him, and Peter saw that there were
tears in her eyes.

"Vell," said the brewer, "what is dat?"

"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.

"But one who prefers to remain unknown cannot restrain her
grateful thanks to Mr. Stirling for what he did; and being
debarred from such acts herself, asks that at least she may be
permitted to aid him in them by enclosing a counsel fee for 'the
case of the tenement children of New York against the inhumanity
of men's greed.'

"September third."

Peter looked at the enclosure, and found it was a check for five hundred
dollars. He laid it on his desk, and read the note over again. It was
beyond question written by a lady. Every earmark showed that, from the
delicate scent of the paper, to the fine, even handwriting. Peter wanted
to know who she was. He looked at the check to see by whom it was
signed; to find that it was drawn by the cashier of the bank at which it
was payable.

Half an hour later, a rapid walk had brought him to the bank the name of
which was on the check. It was an uptown one, which made a specialty of
family and women's accounts. Peter asked for the cashier.

"I've called about this check," he said, when that official
materialized, handing the slip of paper to him.

"Yes," said the cashier kindly, though with a touch of the resigned
sorrow in his voice which cashiers of "family's" and women's banks
acquire. "You must sign your name on the back, on the left-hand end, and
present it to the paying-teller, over at that window. You'll have to be
identified if the paying-teller doesn't know you."

"I don't want the money," said Peter, "I want to know who sent the check
to me?"

The cashier looked at it more carefully. "Oh!" he said. Then he looked
up quickly at Peter? with considerable interest, "Are you Mr. Stirling?"

"Yes."

"Well, I filled this up by order of the president, and you'll have to
see him about it, if you want more than me money."

"Can I see him?"

"Come this way."

They went into a small office at the end of the bank.

"Mr. Dyer," said the cashier, "this is Mr. Stirling, and he's come to
see about that check."

"Glad to see you, Mr. Stirling. Sit down."

"I wish to learn who sent the check."

"Very sorry we can't oblige you. We had positive instructions from the
person for whom we drew it, that no name was to be given."

"Can you receive a letter?"

"That was forbidden too."

"A message?"

"Nothing was said about that."

"Then will you do me the favor to say to the lady that the check will
not be cashed till Mr. Stirling has been able to explain something to
her."

"Certainly. She can't object to that."

"Thank you."

"Not at all." The president rose and escorted him to the door. "That was
a splendid speech of yours, Mr. Stirling," he added. "I'm not a bit
ashamed to say that it put salt water in my old eyes."

"I think," said Peter, "it was the deaths of the poor little children,
more than anything I said, that made people feel it."

The next morning's mail brought Peter a second note, in the same
handwriting as that of the day before. It read:

"Miss De Voe has received Mr. Stirling's message and will be
pleased to see him in regard to the check, at half after eleven
to-day (Wednesday) if he will call upon her.

"Miss De Voe regrets the necessity of giving Mr. Stirling such
brief notice, but she leaves New York on Thursday."

As Peter walked up town that morning, he was a little surprised that he
was so cool over his intended call. In a few minutes he would be in the
presence of a lady, the firmness of whose handwriting indicated that she
was not yet decrepit. Three years ago such a prospect would have been
replete with terror to him. Down to that--that week at the Pierce's, he
had never gone to a place where he expected to "encounter" (for that was
the word he formerly used) women without dread. Since that week--except
for the twenty-four hours of the wedding, he had not "encountered" a
lady. Yet here he was, going to meet an entire stranger without any
conscious embarrassment or suffering. He was even in a sense curious.
Peter was not given to self-analysis, but the change was too marked a
one for him to be unconscious of it. Was it merely the poise of added
years? Was it that he had ceased to care what women thought of him? Or
was it that his discovery that a girl was lovable had made the sex less
terrible to him? Such were the questions he asked himself as he walked,
and he had not answered them when he rang the bell of the old-fashioned,
double house on Second Avenue.

He was shown into a large drawing-room, the fittings of which were still
shrouded in summer coverings, preventing Peter from inferring much, even
if he had had time to do so. But the butler had scarcely left him when,
with a well-bred promptness from which Peter might have drawn an
inference, the rustle of a woman's draperies was heard. Rising, Peter
found himself facing a tall, rather slender woman of between thirty-five
and forty. It did not need a second glance from even Peter's untrained
eye, to realize the suggestion of breeding in the whole atmosphere about
her. The gown was of the simplest summer material, but its very
simplicity, and a certain lack of "latest fashion" rather than
"old-fashionedness" gave it a quality of respectability. Every line of
the face, the set of the head, and even more the carriage of the figure,
conveyed the "look of race."

"I must thank you, Mr. Stirling," she said, speaking deliberately, in a
low, mellow voice, by no means so common then as our women's imitation
of the English tone and inflexion has since made it, "for suiting your
time to mine on such short notice."

"You were very kind," said Peter, "to comply with my request. Any time
was convenient to me."

"I am glad it suited you."

Peter had expected to be asked to sit down, but, nothing being said,
began his explanation.

"I am very grateful, Miss De Voe, for your note, and for the check. I
thank you for both. But I think you probably sent me the latter through
a mistake, and so I did not feel justified in accepting it."

"A mistake?"

"Yes. The papers made many errors in their statements. I'm not a 'poor
young lawyer' as they said. My mother is comfortably off, and gives me
an ample allowance."

"Yes?"

"And what is more," continued Peter, "while they were right in saying
that I paid some of the expenses of the case, yet I was more than repaid
by my fees in some civil suits I brought for the relatives of the
children, which we settled very advantageously."

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Stirling?" said Miss De Voe. "I should like to
hear about the cases."

Peter began a very simple narrative of the matter. But Miss De Voe
interjected questions or suppositions here and there, which led to other
explanations, and before Peter had finished, he had told not merely the
history of the cases, but much else. His mention of the two Dooley
children had brought out the fact of their visit to his mother, and this
had explained incidentally her position in the world. The settlement of
the cases involved the story of the visit to the brewer's home, and
Peter, to justify his action, added his interview with his pastor,
Peter's connection with the case compelled him to speak of his evenings
in the "angle," and the solitary life that had sent him there.
Afterwards, Peter was rather surprised at how much he had told. He did
not realize that a woman with tact and experience can, without making it
evident, lead a man to tell nearly anything and everything he knows, if
she is so minded. If women ever really take to the bar seriously, may
Providence protect the average being in trousers, when on the witness
stand.

As Peter talked, a clock struck. Stopping short, he rose. "I must ask
your pardon," he said. "I had no idea I had taken so much of your time."
Then putting his hand in his pocket, he produced the check. "You see
that I have made a very good thing out of the whole matter and do not
need this."

"One moment, Mr. Stirling," said the lady, still sitting. "Can you spare
the time to lunch with me? We will sit down at once, and you shall be
free to go whenever you wish."

Peter hesitated. He knew that he had the time, and it did not seem easy
to refuse without giving an excise, which he did not have. Yet he did
not feel that he had the right to accept an invitation which he had
perhaps necessitated by his long call.

"Thank you," said his hostess, before he had been able to frame an
answer. "May I trouble you to pull that bell?"

Peter pulled the bell, and coming back, tendered the check rather
awkwardly to Miss De Voe. She, however, was looking towards a doorway,
which the next moment was darkened by the butler.

"Morden," she said, "you may serve luncheon at once."

"Luncheon is served, madam," said Morden.

Miss De Voe rose. "Mr. Stirling, I do not think your explanation has
really affected the circumstances which led me to send that check. You
acknowledge yourself that you are the poorer for that prosecution, and
received no fees for trying it. As I wrote you, I merely was giving a
retaining fee in that case, and as none other has been given, I still
wish to do it. I cannot do such things myself, but I am weal--I--I can
well afford to aid others to do them, and I hope you will let me have
the happiness of feeling that I have done my little in this matter."

"Thank you," said Peter. "I was quite willing to take the money, but I
was afraid you might have sent it under a misconception."

Miss De Voe smiled at Peter with a very nice look in her face. "I am the
one to say 'thank you,' and I am most grateful. But we will consider
that as ended, and discuss luncheon in its place."

Peter, despite his usual unconsciousness could not but notice the beauty
of the table service. The meal itself was the simplest of summer
luncheons, but the silver and china and glass were such as he had never
seen before.

"What wine will you have with your luncheon, Mr. Stirling?" he was asked
by his hostess.

"I don't--none for me," replied Peter.

"You don't approve of wine?" asked his hostess.

"Personally I have no feeling about it."

"But?" And there was a very big question mark in Miss De Voe's voice.

"My mother is strongly prejudiced against it, so I do not take it. It is
really no deprivation to me, while it would mean great anxiety to her if
I drank."

This started the conversation on Peter's mother and his early years, and
before it had ended, his hostess had succeeded in learning much more
about his origin and his New York life. The clock finally cut him short
again, for they lingered at the table long after the meal was finished,
though Miss De Voe made the pretence of eating a grape occasionally.
When three o'clock struck, Peter, without the least simulating any other
cause for going, rose hastily.

"I have used up your whole afternoon," he said, apologetically.

"I think," smiled Miss De Voe, "that we are equal culprits in that. I
leave town to-morrow, Mr. Stirling, but return to the city late in
October, and if your work and inclination favor it, I hope you will come
to see me again?"

Peter looked at the silver and the china. Then he looked at Miss De Voe,
so obviously an aristocrat.

"I shall be happy to," he said, "if, when you return, you will send me
word that you wish to see me."

Miss De Voe had slightly caught her breath while Peter hesitated. "I
believe he is going to refuse!" she thought to herself, a sort of
stunned amazement seizing her. She was scarcely less surprised at his
reply.

"I never ask a man twice to call on me, Mr. Stirling," she said, with a
slight hauteur in her voice.

"I'm sorry for that," said Peter quietly.

Miss De Voe caught her breath again. "Good-afternoon," she said, holding
out her hand. "I shall hope to see you."

"Good-bye," said Peter, and the next moment was walking towards his
office.

Miss De Voe stood for a moment thinking. "That was curious," she
thought, "I wonder if he intends to come?"

The next evening she was dining with relatives in one of the fashionable
summering places, and was telling them about her call "from Mr.
Stirling, the lawyer who made that splendid speech."

"I thought," she said, "when I received the message, that I was going to
be buried under a bathos of thanks, or else have my gift declined with
the expectation that I would gush over the disinterestedness of the
refusal. Since I couldn't well avoid seeing him, I was quite prepared to
snub him, or to take back the money without a word. But he wasn't a bit
that kind of creature. He isn't self-assured nor tonguey--rather the
reverse. I liked him so, that I forced him to stay to luncheon, and made
him tell me a good deal about himself, without his knowing I was doing
so. He leads a very unusual life, without seeming conscious that he
does, and he tells about it very well. Uses just the right word every
time, so that you know exactly what he means, without taxing your own
brain to fill up blanks. He has such a nice voice too. One that makes
you certain of the absolute truth underneath. No. He isn't good looking,
though he has fine eyes, and hair. His face and figure are both too
heavy."

"Is he a gentleman, cousin Anneke?" asked one of the party.

"He is a little awkward, and over-blunt at moments, but nothing to which
one would give a second thought. I was so pleased with him that I asked
him to call on me."

"It seems to me," said another, "that you are over-paying him."

"That was the most curious part," replied Miss De Voe. "I'm not at all
sure that he means to come. It was really refreshing not to be truckled
to, but it is rather startling to meet the first man who does not want
to win his way to my visiting list. I don't think he even knows who Miss
De Voe is."

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