"Heavens, no!" he said. "She's in his office, that's all. When
she took this craze to be independent of you, he gave her a
position as secretary, or as stenographer, or something. She's
probably told him her story, her side of it, and he's helping
her out of charity.:" The Judge smiled tolerantly. "He does that
sort of thing, I believe."
The old man struck the library table with his palm. "I wish he'd
mind his own business," he cried. "It's my money. She has no
claim to it, never had any claim --"
The Judge interrupted quickly.
"That's all right, Stephen; that's all right," he said. "Don't
excite yourself. Just get what you're to say straight in your
mind and stick to it. Remember," he went on, as though coaching
a child in a task already learned, "there never was a written
agreement.
"No!" muttered Hallowell. "Never was!"
"Repeat this to yourself," commanded the Judge. "The
understanding between you and your brother-in-law was that if
you placed his patent on the market, for the first five years
you would share the profits equally. After the five years, all
rights in the patent became yours. It was unfortunate,"
commented the Judge dryly, "that your brother-in-law and your
sister died before the five years were up, especially as the
patent did not begin to make money until after five years.
Remember -- until after five years."
"Until after five years," echoed Mr. Hallowell. "It was over six
years," he went on excitedly, "before it made a cent.
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