t sneaked under the law. They've offered me five
hundred, Judge--five hundred--for a man, five hundred for our three
children--and me. You can make them do better--oh, I know you can. Oh,
please for the sake--oh!"

She looked at him with her battered face, and as her mouth quivered, she
tried to hide her broken teeth. He saw she was about to give way to
tears. He dreaded a scene. He looked at her impatiently and finally
gripping himself after a decision, he said:

"Now, Violet, take a brace. Five hundred is what they always give in
these cases." He smiled suavely at her and she noticed for the first
time that his lip was bare and started at the cruel mouth that leered at
her.

"But," he added expansively, "for old sake's sake--I'm going to do
something for you." He rose and stood over her. "Now, Violet," he said,
strutting the diagonal of his room, and smiling blandly at her, "we both
know why I shouldn't give you my personal check--nor why you shouldn't
have any cash that you cannot account for. But the superintendent of the
smelter, who is also the general manager of the railroad, is under some
obligations to me, and I'll give you this note to him." He sat down and
wrote:

"For good reasons I desire one hundred dollars added to your
check to the widow of Dennis Hogan who presents this, and to
have the same charged to my personal account on your books."

He signed his name with a flourish, and after reading the note handed it
to the woman.

She looked at him and her mouth opened, showing her broken, ragged
teeth. Then she rose.

"My God, Tom Van Dorn--haven't you any heart at all! Six hundred dollars
with three little children--and my man butchered by a law you made--oh,"
she cried as she shook her head and stood dry-eyed and agonized before
him--"I thought you were a man--that you were my friend way down deep in
your heart--I thought you were a man."

She picked up the paper, and at the door turned and said: "And you could
get me thousands from the company for my hundreds by the scratch of your
pen--and I thought you were a man." She opened the door, looked at him
beseechingly, and repeating her complaint, turned away and left him.

She heard the click of the door-latch behind her and she knew that the
man behind the door in whom she had put her faith was laughing at her.
Had she not seen him laugh a score of times in other years at the misery
of other women? Had they not sat behind this door, h