And Minna give him the honest sympathy of a woman who had taught school twelve years, loathed the sight of any human under twenty, and even considered that the institution of marriage had been greatly overpraised.  Certainly she felt it was not for her; and she could understand Homer’s wanting to escape.  She and him would set out and discuss his chances long after he had ought to of been in bed if he was going to earn his pay.

Minna admitted that things looked dark for him on account of the insane prejudice that would be against him for his views on children.  She said he couldn’t expect anything like a fair trial where these was known even with a jury of his peers; and it was quite true that probably only five or six of the jury would be his peers, the rest being women.

Homer told me about these talks—­out of working hours, you can bet!  How Minna was the only person round that would stand by anyone in trouble; how she loathed kids, and even loathed the thought of human marriage.

“Minna is a nice girl,” I told him; “but I should think you’d learn not to pay attention to a woman that talks about children that way.  Remember this other lady talked the same way about ’em before the scandal come out.”

But he was indignant that any one could suspect Minna’s child hating wasn’t honest.

“That little girl is pure as a prism!” he says.  “When she says she hates ’em, she hates ’em.  The other depraved creature was only working on my better nature.”

“Well,” I says, “the case does look black; but mebbe you could settle for a mere five thousand dollars.”

“It wouldn’t be a mere five thousand dollars,” says Homer; “it would be the savings of a lifetime of honest toil and watching the pennies.  That’s all I got.”

“Serves you right, then,” I says, “for not having got married years ago and having little ones of your own about your knee!”

Homer shuddered painfully when I said this.  He started to answer something back, but just choked up and couldn’t.

The adventuress had, of course, sent letters and messages to Homer.  The early ones had been pleading, but the last one wasn’t.  It was more in the nature of a base threat if closely analyzed.  Then she finished up her sewing at the Mortimers’ and departed for Red Gap, leaving a final announcement to anybody it concerned that she would now find out if there was any law in the land to protect a defenseless woman in her sacred right to motherhood.

Homer shivered when he heard it and begun to think of making another get-away, like he had done from Idaho.  He thought more about it when someone come back from town and said she was really consulting a lawyer.

He’d of gone, I guess, if Minna hadn’t kept cheering him up with sympathy and hating children with him.  Homer was one desperate man, but still he couldn’t tear himself away from Minna.

Then one morning he gets a letter from the Red Gap lawyer.  It says his client, Mrs. Judson Tolliver, has directed him to bring suit against Homer for five thousand dollars; and would Homer mebbe like to save the additional cost—­which would be heavy, of course—­by settling the matter out of court and avoiding pain for all?