's the row?"

"Why," says Corson, "this old woman----"

"Lady," says I.

"Aw--er--yes," says he. "She insists on fawcing her way in to see Mr.
Dawes."

"Well," says I, "she ain't got no bag of dynamite, or anything like
that, has she?"

"I just wanted a word with Fletcher," says she, buttin' in--"just a
word or two."

"Friend of yours?" says I.

"Why-- Well, we have known each other for forty years," says she.

"That ought to pass you in," says I,

"But she refuses to give her name," says Corson.

"I am Mrs. Maria Dawes," says she, holdin' her chin up and lookin' him
straight between the eyes.

"You're not on the list," says Corson.

"List be blowed!" says I. "Say, you peanut head, can't you see this is
some relation? You ought to have sense enough to get a report from the
boss, before you carry out this quick bounce business. Perhaps you're
puttin' your foot in it, son."

Then Corson weakens, and the old lady throws me a look that was as good
as a vote of thanks. And say, when she'd straightened her lid and
pulled herself together, she was as ladylike an old party as you'd want
to meet. There wa'n't much style about her, but she was dressed
expensive enough--furs, and silks, and sparks in her ears. Looked like
one of the sort that had been up against a long run of hard luck and
had come through without gettin' sour.

While we was arguin', in drifts Mr. Dawes himself. I gets a glimpse of
his face when he first spots the old girl, and if ever I see a mouth
shut like a safe door, and a jaw stiffen as if it had turned to
concrete, his did.

"What does this mean, Maria?" he says between his teeth.

"I couldn't help it, Fletcher," says she. "I wanted to see you about
little Bertie."

"Huh!" grunts Fletcher. "Well, step in this way. McCabe, you can come
along too."

I wa'n't stuck on the way it was said, and didn't hanker for mixin' up
with any such reunions; but it didn't look like Maria had any too many
friends handy, so I trots along. When we're shut in, with the
draperies pulled, Mr. Dawes plants his feet solid, shoves his hands
down into his pockets, and looks Maria over careful.

"Then you have lost the address of my attorneys?" says he, real frosty.

That don't chill Maria at all. She acted like she was used to it.
"No," says she; "but I'm tired of talking to lawyers. I couldn't tell
them about Bertie, and how lonesome I've been without him these last
two years. Can't I have