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I advise you to compromise this suit, Weill," he added. "How would a thousand dollars strike you? I've had Paret look up the case, and he tells me the little girl has had to have an operation." "A thousand dollars!" cried the grocer. "What right have these people to let their children play on the streets? It's an outrage." "Where else have the children to play?" Mr. Watling touched his arm.

"I'll come in soon again, if I may," I told him. "Do, Paret," he said, "it's done me good to talk to you more good than you imagine." I was unable to answer him, but I glanced back from the doorway to see him smiling after me. On my way down the stairs I bumped into the doctor as he ascended. The dingy brown parlour was filled with men, standing in groups and talking in subdued voices.

My hand hung for an instant over the bell.... I must have rung it violently, for there appeared almost immediately an old lady in a lace cap, who greeted me with gentle courtesy, and knocked at a little door with glistening panels. The latch was lifted by Mr. Cheyne himself. "Come in, Paret," he said, in a tone that was unexpectedly hospitable. I have rarely seen a more inviting room.

He seized the paper, stared at what I had written in pencil on the margin, and then stared at me. Abruptly, he began to laugh. "Ask Mr. Wading what he thinks of it?" "I intended to, provided it had your approval, sir," I replied. "You have my approval, Mr. Paret," he declared, rather cryptically, and with the slight German hardening of the v's into which he relapsed at times.

"But we're not going to have a division to-morrow." "Thank God!" I exclaimed. He regarded me. "The 'efficient' will have to die or be educated first. That will take time." "Educated!" "Paret, have you ever read any serious books on what you call socialism?" he asked. I threw out an impatient negative. I was going on to protest that I was not ignorant of the doctrine.

Hugh Moreton Paret, after whom I was named, was the best known physician of the city in the decorous, Second Bank days. My mother was Sarah Breck. Hers was my Scotch-Irish side. Old Benjamin Breck, her grandfather, undaunted by sea or wilderness, had come straight from Belfast to the little log settlement by the great river that mirrored then the mantle of primeval forest on the hills.

I did not like to confess this; and yet I heard within me occasional whispers. Could it be that I, Hugh Paret, who had always been so positive, had made a mess of my life? There were moments when the pattern of it appeared to have fallen apart, resolved itself into pieces that refused to fit into each other. Of course my relationship with Nancy had something to do with this....

And where was the saving in that? "Say, Paret," said Judah B. when we had finished our labours; "if you ever get sick of the law, I'll give you a job on the Era's staff. This is fine, the way you put it. It'll do a lot of good, but how in hell are you going to handle Judd?...." For three days the inspiration was withheld.

Paret as tall; Maude was up to my chin: again, the hair of the fortunate lady was to be dark, and Maude's was golden red: my ideal had esprit, lightness of touch, the faculty of seizing just the aspect of a subject that delighted me, and a knowledge of the world; Maude was simple, direct, and in a word provincial.

"Paret," he said suddenly, "I don't care a damn about Grunewald never did. I'd turn him down for ten cents. But you can tell Theodore Watling for me, and Dickinson, that I guess the 'inducement' can be fixed." I felt a certain relief that the interview had come to an end, that the moment had arrived for amenities. To my surprise, Mr. Jason anticipated me. "I've been interested in you, Mr.