The judge tapped his foot on the floor for a time, and then made a noise like a groan—­as though he had teeth in his mind and one of them was being pulled.

“Many a time,” he said, “I have tried to talk you out of your suspicions.  But—­if it was any other man than Stanley Woodward, I would say today that he was doing his best to—­to—­”

“To ‘do’ me?” suggested Mary, more innocent than ever.

“Yes, my dear—­to do you!  And another year’s work like this wouldn’t be far from having that result.”

Curiously enough it was Mary’s great idea that comforted her.  Instead of feeling worried or apprehensive, she felt eager for action, her eyes shining at the thoughts which came to her.

“All right,” she said, “we’ll have a meeting in a day or two.  I’ll wait till I get my copy of the report.”

Wally came that afternoon, and Mary danced with him—­that is to say she danced with him until a freckle-faced apprentice came up from the factory with an envelope addressed in MacPherson’s crabbed hand.  Mary took one peep inside and danced no more.

“If the women can pick it up as quick as the men,” she read, “I have counted 1653 places in this factory where they could be working in a few weeks time—­that is, if the places were vacant.  List enclosed.  Respectfully.  James O. MacPherson.”

It was a long list beginning “346 automatics, 407 grinders—­”

Mary studied it carefully, and then after telephoning to the factory, she called up Judge Cutler.

“I wish you would come down to the office in about half an hour,” she said, “....  Directors’ meeting.  All right.  Thank you.”

“What was it dad used to call me sometimes—­his ’Little Hustler’?” she thought.  “If he could see, I’ll bet that’s what he would call me now.”

As she passed through the hall she looked in the drawing room to tell Helen where she was going.  Helen was sitting on a chaise lounge and Wally was bending over her, as though trying to get something out of her eye with the corner of a handkerchief.

“I don’t see anything,” Mary heard him saying.

“There must be something.  It hurts dreadfully,” said Helen.

Looking again, he lightly dabbed at the eye.  “Oh!” breathed Helen.  “Don’t, Wally!”

She took hold of his hand as though to stop him.  Mary passed on without saying anything, her nose rather high in the air.

Half way down the hill she laughed at nothing in particular.

“Yes,” she told herself.  “Helen—­in her own way—­I guess that she’s a little Hustler ... too ...!”

CHAPTER XVI

The meeting was held in Mary’s office—­the first conference of directors she had ever attended.  By common consent, Uncle Stanley was chosen chairman of the board.  Judge Cutler was appointed secretary.

Mary sat in her chair at the desk, her face nearly hidden by the flowers in the vase.