On the second visit Mrs. Bohlmann said: 

“I tell my good man that with all the law-business he has, he must get a lawyer for a son-in-law.”

Peter had not heard Mrs. Bohlmann say to her husband the evening before, as they were prinking for dinner: 

“Have you told Mr. Stirling about your law business?”

Nor Mr. Bohlmann’s prompt: 

“Yah.  I dells him der last dime.”

Yet Peter wondered if there were any connection between the two statements.  He liked the two girls.  They were nice-looking, sweet, sincere women.  He knew that Mr. Bohlmann was ranked as a millionaire already, and was growing richer fast.  Yet—­Peter needed no blank walls.

During this summer, Peter had a little more law practice.  A small grocer in one of the tenements came to him about a row with his landlord.  Peter heard him through, and then said:  “I don’t see that you have any case; but if you will leave it to me to do as I think best, I’ll try if I can do something,” and the man agreeing, Peter went to see the landlord, a retail tobacconist up-town.

“I don’t think my client has any legal grounds,” he told the landlord, “but he thinks that he has, and the case does seem a little hard.  Such material repairs could not have been foreseen when the lease was made.”

The tobacconist was rather obstinate at first.  Finally he said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do.  I’ll contribute one hundred dollars towards the repairs, if you’ll make a tenant named Podds in the same building pay his rent; or dispossess him if he doesn’t, so that it shan’t cost me anything.”

Peter agreed, and went to see the tenant in arrears.  He found that the man had a bad rheumatism and consequently was unable to work.  The wife was doing what she could, and even the children had been sent on the streets to sell papers, or by other means, to earn what they could.  They also owed a doctor and the above-mentioned grocer.  Peter went back to the landlord and told him the story.

“Yes,” he said, “it’s a hard case, I know, but, Mr. Stirling, I owe a mortgage on the place, and the interest falls due in September.  I’m out four months’ rent, and really can’t afford any more.”  So Peter took thirty-two dollars from his “Trustee” fund, and sent it to the tobacconist.  “I have deducted eight dollars for collection,” he wrote.  Then he saw his first client, and told him of his landlord’s concession.

“How much do I owe you?” inquired the grocer.

“The Podds tell me they owe you sixteen dollars.”

“Yes.  I shan’t get it.”

“My fee is twenty-five.  Mark off their bill and give me the balance.”

The grocer smiled cheerfully.  He had charged the Podds roundly for their credit, taking his chance of pay, and now got it paid in an equivalent of cash.  He gave the nine dollars with alacrity.

Peter took it upstairs and gave it to Mrs. Podds.  “If things look up with you later,” he said, “you can pay it back.  If not, don’t trouble about it.  Ill look in in a couple of weeks to see how things are going.”