was--suspected of having connived at the imposture by which his suit
was won--why else have put it in the hands of such a one as Ocock? John
Turnham's soundless whistle of astonishment recurred to him, and
flicked him. Imagine it! He, Richard Mahony, giving his sanction to
these queasy tricks!

It was bad enough to know that Ocock at any rate had believed him not
averse from winning by unjust means. Yet, on the whole, he thought this
mortified him less than to feel that he had been written down a Simple
Simon, whom it was easy to impose on. Ah well! At best he had been but
a kind of guy, set up for them to let off their verbal fireworks round.
Faith and that was all these lawyer-fellows wanted--the ghost of an
excuse for parading their skill. Justice played a negligible role in
this battle of wits; else not he but the plaintiff would have come out
victorious. That wretched Bolliver! ... the memory of him wincing and
flushing in the witness-box would haunt him for the rest of his days.
He could see him, too, with equal clearness, broken-heartedly slitting
the gizzards of his, pets. A poor old derelict--the amen to a life
which, like most lives, had once been flush with promise. And it had
been his Mahony's., honourable portion to give the last kick, the
ultimate shove into perdition. Why, he would rather have lost the money
ten times over!

To divert his mind, he began next morning to make an inventory of the
goods in the store. It was high time, too: thanks to the recent
disturbances he did not know where he stood. And while he was about it,
he gave the place a general clean-up. A job of this kind was a powerful
ally in keeping edged thoughts at bay. He and his men had their hands
full for several days, Polly, who was not allowed to set foot in the
store, peeping critically in at them to see how they progressed. And,
after business hours, there was little Polly herself.

He loved to contemplate her.

Six months of married life had worked certain changes in his black-eyed
slip of a girl; but something of the doe-like shyness that had caught
his fancy still clung to her. With strangers she could even yet be
touchingly bashful. Not long out of short frocks, she found it
difficult to stand upon her dignity as Mrs. Dr. Mahony. Besides, it was
second nature to Polly to efface herself, to steal mousily away.
Unless, of course, some one needed help or was in distress, in which
case she forgot to be shy. To her husband's hab