The Red Book Magazine/Volume 11/Number 6/The Tactfulness of Mr. Gene

BY ETHEL WATTS GRANT

MAN needn't want to cop everything in sight. I maintain that a few good grafts are enough; and you don't have to work them to death at that. The framed text for me is, “Live and let live.” I don't need to work, but I do; none busier. I like it; it's a good game. I'm always fair with the Old Man and see that he gets his bait, so he lets me in on the good ones. None of this tracing lost persons or East Side murders for mine. But if it “looks good,” the parties have got enough to lose, and they want a “tactful man”—I'm It.

I can, for I was born to put up a pretty slick front when I want to. I don't look as if I'd been rubbed into a dress-suit. I don't drink out of the finger-bowls, nor pass plates across the table if there's a butler. In short, I'm presentable, and I don't have to don respectability as a disguise. When I'm on the job I can make torrid love to a lady, and she'll like it. I can hand out a line of theosophy that would choke a maccaroni [sic] expert, or lead a Harvard professor by the hand beside the streams of knowledge.

We did have one other silk-socked boy in the office, but not for long. He was handed a golden prospect and grasped the fact that the lady in the case had stolen her own diamonds to help some lad out of a hole. What did he do? Blew the whole gaff out to the Mister, instead of letting her haul down a few more bones for everybody's benefit. And what then? Did he do any good? Not a bit. Cracked up a happy home, and made everybody miserable, including the lad. It nearly broke the Old Man's heart when he found he'd let a goat into that particular lot. No, sir; when the family linen needs an airing—lock up the live stock, otherwise it's fatal—even to the coat.

Yes, I've had some strange experiences, and some heartrending ones, too. Once in a way, I have a most laughable one. I am, I'm afraid, something of a cynic; not a hardened one, unless I happen to have indigestion. But—well, here's a sample of the way I work.

I have just come from an odd case—odd, that is, in my solution of the difficulty, for, criminally, it is easily classed.

Over a month ago, the Old Man sent for me. I went straight to the little back office, where I found him in obvious good humor.

“Gene,” he said affably, “you know there's a plan to take up four blocks of water-front near Twenty-third Street for terminals. I'm looking at several important scraps of property around there, but I need a few more thou' in cash to make up the price. Suppose, now, you and I go in together—only you'll have to be quick about raising it. You cannot fool all of the landholders all of the time.”

I agreed. “”Whose case is it?”

He chuckled. “Read that,” and he handed me a letter.

I glanced at the signature. “Daniel O'Leich!” Full of money, and dangerously prominent. I perused “Exhibit A.”

“Well?” I asked.

The Old Man grinned. “He'll tell you himself. You're to apply to him in person, at noon to-day, for the position of private secretary; speech-writer-sharp and all that.

“In that case,” I said, “I go to dress the part. I'll see you later.”

Donning my best English business suit, reducing my hair to subserviency, submitting to the manicure and other necessities, took up the better part of two hours. I flatter myself that when I appeared at the office of Mr. O'Leich there was not a better found young secretary in the market.

I presented my card and a note from the Old Man, presumably a letter of introduction from my last employer, and was at once admitted. My new boss was a good looking Irishman-twice-removed. He had the belligerent blue eye, prominent jaw, and enthusiastic manner of his race; otherwise he was the successful American magnate to a dot. He looked me over keenly, emitted a “hump” of satisfaction, and motioned me to a seat.

“Now, Mr— what's your name— Gene? Your Chief gives you the highest praise; I hope you deserve it. He has, I suppose, told you the nature of the case.”

“No, sir,” I answered, looking him straight in the eye, in the manner I have found most convincing of honesty. “The Chief preferred I should learn the particulars from you. He prefers, if I may say so, that I should obtain first impression from the interested party. His experience with criminal cases naturally influences his judgment, which in turn—”

“Exactly,” interrupted Mr. O'Leich. “I prefer it myself. To be brief, I have been robbed of $1,600 in bills and gold, and my wife some three weeks before, missed her gold purse; but that, as you can well understand, may have been an accident—it may have been lost. I only mention the fact. I am offering $2,500 reward for the apprehension of the criminal. Out of proportion, you'll say; but it isn't. The theft must have been committed by a member of my household, and I cannot rest or feel safe until the matter is cleared up.”

“What we call 'an inside job,'” I suggested.

“Exactly. I am having extensive improvements made on my estate near Irvington, and am employing gangs of workmen on the roads. These must be paid weekly in cash. I employ twelve servants in the house, six in the stables, including the chauffeur, six in the gardens and greenhouses. The general overseeing is done by a competent man who resides in the village. Comes with the workmen at six and goes at five-thirty. You see that a considerable sum must be kept on hand for general convenience. I have a small safe hidden in the wall of the dining-room. The cash and the most valuable plate are kept there. As far as I know, only my wife, myself and the butler, who has been in my employ twenty-two years, know the combination.

“It was from this safe that the money was taken. Just when, we have no means of knowing, as there was no occasion to open the safe from Monday, the 7th, to Friday, the 11th. The butler, making his weekly tally of the silver, noticed that the envelopes and specie-bags that had formerly occupied one corner, were not there. He reported the fact, without, however, attaching much importance to it, thinking, naturally, that Mrs. O'Leich had given the money to Best. This was not the case. My wife knew nothing of the matter. So far we are without clews, and I must and will discover the criminal. My house is filled with valuables. I am compelled to keep considerable sums about me, and, to say the least, the present state of affairs is most uncomfortable.”

“Naturally,” I assented sympathetically.

“We have hit upon the plan of bringing you into the house as private secretary. I have been threatening to engage one for some time, and your coming will seem quite a matter of course. A new servant would excite suspicion, as below-stairs they are upset and conscious of suspicion. Moreover, as my secretary, you can be any and everywhere about the house at any hours, in obedience to my orders, without any appearance of prying—you see?”

I bowed. “I understand,” said I. “And now, may I ask, am I to be a social, or merely a business-secretary? I mean, shall I be at Mrs. O'Leich's disposal? Do you entertain much? Are there young ladies in your household?” I was anxious to see what feelings he would show with regard to his family.

“We entertain, but not on an extensive scale. Unfortunately, I have no children of my own, and my stepson, Allan Glyce, is nineteen and home from Yale for the Summer. We sometimes have a house full of his boy-friends, but that entails no duties upon you—other than to see that they don't smash my Tanagra collection. It takes the whole force to do that.”

“You want me at once, Mr. O'Leich, I presume?”

“This afternoon. The Lance will be at the Eighty-third Street Yacht Club landing at four o'clock. Meet me there. Give my name, and go right on board. I'll come when I can.”

He rose and dismissed me with gentlemanly cordiality.

At the hour appointed I boarded The Lance, one of the fastest electric-yachts in the country. She was of the torpedo-type and beautifully fitted. In the saloon, among pennants, cups, and trophies, were two photographs in elaborate frames: one of a handsome, matronly woman, the other of a beautiful boy who greatly resembled her. I studied the faces closely, but the pictures had been so retouched that all character was lost. The steward, a decent sort of a Deer Island boy, feeling that I must be curious concerning my employers, supplied me with miscellaneous information.

The Boss adored his wife and her son. In fact, he openly talked of legally adopting the latter. It was great luck for the boy, for Mrs. Glyce had been almost poor prior to her second marriage. It was evident that the steward shared his master's liking.

He touched on the matter of the robbery, but discreetly refrained from guesses.

He had been in the Boss' employ for six years, and expressed his opinion that Bede, the butler, was innocent, on the ground that he never did anything he hadn't been told to do, and so much initiative on his part was not to be imagined.

At five, Mr. O'Leich came aboard, and our race—for a race it was—up the river, was exhilarating.

I promised myself to be unpardonably stupid, in order to put off the dénouement of this very pleasantly environed mystery. Mr. O'Leich treated me almost like a human being: offered me highballs, which I refused, and excellent cigars, which I accepted. A man always respects another's sobriety, but secretly despises him for inability to appreciate a good smoke.

Arrived at his private dock, we were met by a smart station-'bus, and hurried up the steep grades to a late Garfield, early McKinley castle. I noted his love of speed and his nervous irritability at delay, and judged him to possess a violent temper, to be of a demanding nature, and absolutely unreasonable when aroused.

I was shown to my luxurious quarters and received the prompt attendance of the valet, a self-important Englishman, wearing an injured expression of dignity. From him I learned the dinner-hour, and nothing more. After a careful toilet I descended to the drawing-room and was introduced to my—I was about to say “hostess,” but her manner toward me showed plainly that I occupied the position of a companion or governess. She was polite, but after some perfunctory greetings her conversation did not include me. A moment later Allan entered. He was the original of the picture in The Lance's saloon, and a singularly handsome and ingratiating young fellow. He greeted me cordially, as if hoping to find in me relief from the companionship of his elders. I took my cue, but kept a watchful eye on the mother. I saw her frown once or twice, and make futile attempts to draw the boy to her. O'Leich cast an amused glance or so in our direction, and laughed outright as Allan began to draw a vivid picture of his troubles upon the only occasion when he had tried to write a speech for his father.

“Couldn't do it,” he said cheerfully. “Made an awful mess, so I told him to tell the tableful of old grafters that he didn't know what to talk about so he'd talk about a minute, and sit down—”

“I did,” said O'Leich, interrupting his conversation with his wife, “and I made the hit of my life.”

O'Leich was called to the telephone, leaving the three of us to further our acquaintance.

To my surprise, I saw an instant change. Allan's buoyancy of manner failed suddenly. His mother noticed it, and glanced at him apprehensively. There was a subtle undercurrent of startled questioning in her look. Dinner passed off pleasantly, though the lady continued to “put me in my place.” I was careful, however, to give her no suggestion of possible forwardness. Like the good children, I spoke when I was spoken to. The trusted butler absorbed most of my attention. He had a large, bald, domed head, and a crowd of small, frightened, old maid features below it. If he were guilty, the weight of necessity must have laid heavily upon him. It would be easy to learn of any condition in his environment sufficiently aggravated to force this obedient satellite from its orbit. The second man was a nervous, hoppy little person, quick, competent, and “on the make.”

In short, my instructions in town with regard to the past and present of Bede failed to reveal anything but the most comfortable and prosaic existence. His wife, the housekeeper, was an elderly lady, above reproach. They had never had any children—not even a dissolute nephew or needy niece burdened them. He had amassed a comfortable little bank-account for a rainy day, and had his employer's promise of a pension when he could no longer serve.

Clearly, in this case, all motives to theft were lacking. Concerning the other servants, they were one by one discarded from the suspect-list.

There remained—my hostess, and her son. From the first I had had no doubts, but the berth was more than luxurious, O'Leich, satisfied with my daily report, and myself doubtful as to the best method of tapping the graft, I proceeded with the elimination process.

I next turned my attention to the superintendent, who supplied the clew I felt necessary. His townsmen feared him. He had become well-to-do, by a series of mortgage-foreclosures, the encouragement of peonage among the Italian working-gangs, and the almost unaccountable favoritism of the local bank. The president advanced him money on little or no security, and seemed willing to consider any proposition he made. The answer was too easy. Mr. Stephen Best knew something that made this partiality necessary either for the bank or its president. Avarice and blackmail do not make a pretty showing. Furthermore, his wife seemed to enjoy a similar reputation, and a most unusual guardedness of speech was generally maintained concerning their daughter Edith, who proved to be a spectacularly pretty girl, with a manner that did not suggest “The Old Homestead.”

I went on collecting evidence, till the whole story became apparent. The precious family was holding the Boy up, with a threat of breach of promise suit with scandalous details. The whole story was well cooked up, Allan was clearly terrified, and the demands of the blackmailers were becoming greater and more insistent. The boy was afraid of his own shadow, miserable beyond description, and did not dare divulge his trouble. That his mother guessed that some misfortune beset him was as obvious as the fact that he had not confided in her.

Before making my discoveries known, I had Miss Best looked up, which proved a difficult matter. At last, however, by tracing her letters and past connections I ascertained the desirable news that she had already changed her superlative name for the euphonious one of Mrs. Charles Dudley Druth, the said Druth being cognizant of his wife's present prospects. This alliance, contracted when on the road with the “Belles of Broadway,” had been but little known, as the girl continued to use her stage name of “Edith Estarr.” The time was now ripe for action, and, besides, Mr. O'Leich was becoming restless.

One afternoon, about a month from the date of my arrival, I sent a note to Mrs. O'Leich, begging her to give me a few moments' interview in the library. She came. If she had not begun to fear she would have put me sharply “where I belonged.”

“Well?” she said, pausing at the door.

I bowed respectfully. “Permit me to close the door, madame. I am sure you would not desire what I have to say to go farther.”

She shut the door herself, and waved me to a seat at some distance. I could see that her knees would hardly support her, yet she remained bravely erect.

“May I beg you to be brief?” she murmured. “I have some correspondence.”

I went straight to the point.

“I feel it my duty, in spite of Mr O'Leich's instructions, to tell you that I am a detective.”

“I knew it,” she gasped, sinking upon the nearest chair, her face grown ashen. “What does he—what do you suspect?”

“I don't suspect—I know. It is because I have the keenest sympathy for you, madame—”

She sank back as if struck to the heart.

“What do you mean?”

I read the words from her white lips, for they made no sound.

“Allan, your son,” I said.

With that she broke down utterly, and her grief was terrible to witness. I was heartily sorry for her, poor woman, in spite of her previous manner towards me.

“I've feared it—I've feared it!” she sobbed. “It's too terrible! Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do!” She rose and swayed toward me. Flinging out her arms in supplication, she sank on her knees. “Oh, save him! You wont tell his stepfather, you wont—you wont!”

I raised her gently. “But, madame, my duty,” I replied. (No one can say I don't know how to play the game.)

“Oh, find some way—some way out! I'll pay anything!”

“What!” I cried in a voice that would have been worth $2.50 a night in melodrama.

“Think of me, a heart-broken mother—think of Allan—it will ruin us both. It can't be so bad. He isn't wicked, my boy. He has been led into something wrong; he is so young. Oh, save us—save us, and I'll be your debtor all my life!”

“There are grave accusations, and he has been blackmailed,” I said severely.

Little by little I unfolded the whole story, of course, omitting what I had learned concerning Miss Best. The poor creature was thunderstruck.

“But you don't know that he took this money—not the money from the safe. You have no proof of that.”

She had me there. She read it in my face, or divined it. I saw that it would never do to let her leave me without further proof. She would go to any length to protect her son. Quickly pressing the electric-bell I took up a position between her and the door.

“Send Mr. Glyce here,” I said smoothly to the servant; “he is in the squash court. Mrs. O'Leich desires to speak with him.”

She turned upon me with some return of her old imperiousness of manner.

“I wish to speak to my son in private,” she said.

I shook my head. “I cannot allow it,” I answered coldly.

Instantly she melted. “Surely, surely, you wont intrude upon a mother and her child at a time like this,” she begged; “surely, surely not!”

“Remember, Mrs. O'Leich,” I said gravely, “if I am to help you there must be no half-measures, and no councils without my presence.”

She heaved a mighty sigh of relief, and her face lost its ghastly waxiness. This was my first intimation of a willingness to help.

Just then there was a tap on the door, and Allan, in his exercising suit, stood before us. Without his coat, in his flannel shirt, I suddenly realized how emaciated the boy had grown. The color the exercise had brought to his cheeks looked hectic on their hollowness. This must have flashed through his mother's mind, for she went to him swiftly, as if she expected him to faint in her arms.

He looked with hunted eyes from me to his mother, and his lip quivered.

“I see you've found out,” he said, with a self-control of voice that surprised me. Clearly there was good stuff in the lad. “Mother, I'm sorry, I'm—sorry for you!” They were clinging together now, like a couple of frightened children. He looked at me over her head. “I suppose you've got to arrest me, and tell father, and all. But you don't know—”

“About Edith Best?” I interrupted; “yes, we both know.”

“Well, I want to say,” he burst out, “it's all a lie; it's a put up job, though Best says he'll swear and so will his wife, and the girl, too. But I didn't make love to her. I went to see her a few times, and held her hand and kissed her, as any fellow will, if a girl'll let him; but all the whole rest of it's a lie—every word of it!”

“But you took that money to help hush him up,” I said.

“I did. I was scared silly. I gave him all I had in the bank first, all the Christmas-money you, mother, and father have been giving me for years, and I've pawned everything worth a dollar. I stole and pawned your gold purse, mother, and I've borrowed wherever I could. It's been—it's been Hell!”

I could sympathize with the poor boy. What chance had he against this paternal badger-game? Not the chance of a snow ball in the locality he'd just named. His mother stood erect, looked him in the eyes, and kissed him.

“My poor boy—my poor boy! Oh, why didn't you come to me?”

He looked at me helplessly. “How could I?” he asked. “They made such a rotten story, and they didn't care what they swore to.”

Mrs. O'Leich left his side and came over to me. She now regarded me as an ally

“What shall we do? What shall we do? I can't think—I can't see. But you you are experienced. You believe what he says is true? The children of rich men, yes, and their wives, too, are targets for these infamous wretches. You wont ruin the boy's career, will you? You will give him his chance? His stepfather loves him, but he's not his child. He'd never, never forgive. You know yourself, he wouldn't.”

I had worked it out, but I appeared to sink into trance-like thought. At last I broke the tense silence.

“Mrs. O'Leich, have you money, ready money, that you can obtain without your husband's knowledge and consent?”

“Yes, oh, yes,” she cried.

“These Bests must be bought off—temporarily, that is, till I can bring other influences to bear. I don't know what terms I can arrange; doubtless two or three thousand will hold them for a while. They must know that the whole state of affairs has been brought to light. Then there is the $1,600 which we must arrange to have found. Do you happen to know,” I asked, turning to Allan, “the denomination of the money of the safe?”

“Twenty twenty dollar bills, thirty ten dollar bills, 200 in silver dollars, and the rest in gold.”

“We must frame that up. Can you, Mrs. O'Leich, get five thousand dollars in hand at once?”

She nodded.

“One thing more, Mrs. O'Leich. Ask your husband this evening, casually, why he was walking down the stairs, with a newspaper in his hand at four this morning. He will deny that he did, but you must insist that you saw him.” She gazed at me in mystification. “Never mind; do as I say, and to-morrow go to the city for funds. What sort of a doctor is your local light of science?” I added.

“A perfectly incompetent idiot. I wouldn't think of letting him—”

“Excellent!” I exclaimed. “And now I know vou want to be alone.” I held out my hand. “I know I've no right to trick my employer. I beg you to believe that nothing but my sympathy for you and my belief that the boy has been the victim of a despicable scheme, could influence me.”

She seized my hand and covered it with tears and kisses. For once, I must say, I felt pretty small, as I softly left the room

My next move was to treat myself to a delightful interview with the Best family, lock, stock, and barrel. I had no intention that any of the money in question should find its way into their pockets. I began by diplomatically setting forth that I was an emissary from Mrs. O'Leich, empowered to settle with them. They were delighted. It was exactly what they had counted on, having believed from the start that the matter would be hushed for any reasonable amount, and no legal steps taken. I induced the father to write down his accusations against the boy.

After the accusations and demands were all written out, and the possible suit for breach of promise placed at $100,000, we began to talk business. They would settle for $15,000 cash; and even consent to write a statement clearing Allan for all time Everything looked lovely.

Then I fired my mine. Told them who I was, what I knew about Mrs. Druth. alias Miss Best, alias Miss Estarr. That having intercepted certain letters, I knew that Father Best was not ignorant of the facts, and the Mr. Druth hoped to reap a sheaf or two of the golden harvest along with the rest of the family. I added a few words about winking at peonage and blackmail as applied to banking. In all my life I have never witnessed such consternation. Edith cried most unbecomingly. Of course, when I let fall that Mr. O'Leich was still in total ignorance of my knowledge, they offered to let me in on the game at a very generous percentage. I laughed—the family squirmed uncomfortably. I finally closed with them for $2,500 to hold my tongue, for, as I pointed out, one word from me and he not only lost his very remunerative position as superintendent, but courted jail, as did also his wife, daughter and son-in-law. I left them a thoroughly cowed and disheartened bunch.

1 was $5,500 to the good, including Mrs. O'Leich's hush-money. It was now up to me to furnish my employer with a satisfactory explanation of the disappearance of the money from the safe, something that would forever divert his suspicions.

To that end I had already sent to the Old Man a somewhat odd request, and several small vials were already in my possession.

Then the real comedy began. It opened with the wide-eyed denials of Mr. O'Leich that he had descended the hall-stairs at four in the morning, newspaper in hand. Mrs. O'Leich, much mystified, but following my directions, implicitly, affirmed, with an assurance that would have convinced the recording angel himself, that she had seen her spouse upon this imaginary occasion.

I allowed a few days to pass, during which time I confessed to my employer that I was totally at a loss, that all clews had failed, but I was at work upon a new tack, and hoped for results. He shrugged and intimated that unless I were better worth my salt, my services could be dispensed with

On Thursday of the week following my interview with the Bests, from whom, by the way, I had collected, as also from Mrs. O'Leich, I proceeded to Act II of the farce. Mr. O'Leich always drank ale before retiring, which was late, after everyone else in the house had knocked off. Into his glass I managed to introduce a very mild but rapidly-acting knockout-drop. Giving him a half hour from the time he got in bed, Allan and I bore him, snoring heavily, to the library, and left him wedged between two bookcases, a volume open on his knees, in so uncomfortable a position that he was due to waken the moment the effect of the drug wore off. One electric-light we left turned on that he might realize his strange surroundings at the moment of awakening. Then we left him.

About an hour later I heard his stealthy footsteps as he sought his room, and laughed till the tears rolled down my face.

Mr. O'Leich sent for the local practitioner, who, no doubt, pronounced sleep-walking not an uncommon phenomenon, due to overwork, perhaps, and gave him every hope of speedy recovery. The patient said nothing to anyone of his household, but his preoccupation was visible to all. He suggested that a European trip would be of benefit, and let out that he had seen a well known New York doctor, who advised rest. Three days later we repeated the experiment. This time we laid the slumbering magnate beside the opened safe in the dining-room. About him was scattered gold and silver of the denomination of the missing money. A book, the same he had before found upon his knees in the library-episode, lay open beside him, interleaved with $10 and $20 bank notes. All the doors, except that opening into the center hall, were locked. I had no intention that his slumbers should be interrupted by anyone save my humble self.

I waited till nearly dawn, when I felt sure he would be passing into a natural slumber from which he could be awakened, and stole down.

Mr. O'Leich was soundly sleeping. I stayed outside and watched him through the crack of the door. Presently he stirred, rolled over uncomfortably, grunted, rolled again, and rubbed his eyes. Then he sat up and looked about. His expression was one of frozen horror. He stretched forth a trembling hand, picked up a twenty dollar gold piece and realized that it was real. He gazed at the open safe and a dawn of awful comprehension grew upon him. He scrambled to his feet. Now was my chance. Under cover of the noise he made I hurried back to the stairs and came slowly toward the dining-room, being careful to make a slight but distinct noise. Entering suddenly I covered him with a revolver.

“Throw up your hands!” I said sharply. Then in a tone of well-feigned amazement, “Mr. O'Leich!”

He put his hand to his head. In truth, it must have throbbed cruelly. He opened his mouth to speak, but could not, and sank upon a chair as if his feet had been knocked from under him. I ran to the sideboard and gave him two rousing doses of brandy containing a simple antidote. I had no wish that the drug head he would have later should attract his attention. Naturally he felt better. Then he looked at me. His was the most hangdog face I have ever seen. My glance was severe and questioning.

Suddenly he began to talk. He explained it all—his sleep-walking, his finding himself in the library upon a previous occasion; his wife's having seen him at four in the corridor, an excursion of which he had no recollection; and now this!

I pointed out its obvious meaning. He had already observed it. He looked at me meaningly.

“You'd better pick them up,” he said with a nod. “It wont do to leave them here, and I'm sure I don't want to see them again.”

I took the hint, and busied myself as we talked things over in whispers.

“You've got to find me a way out of this, Gene,” he said. “I don't want to be a laughing-stock—papers full of my robbing myself, and all that. Besides, it will be made out that my reason is tottering, that I'm on the verge of collapse—and my business interests wont allow it—the doctors say it's only temporary—a matter of a few months' rest—I guess,” he added with a weak attempt at humor, “the reward is yours, anyway. You landed the thief—and, see here, Gene, I'll make it worth your while. You're a decent chap, and I like you, blame me, if I don't!”

We closed and locked the safe, the filthy lucre was in my possession, and we tiptoed back to bed.

Well, that's all. We—the Old Man and I—cleared $5,000 apiece out of the job. But, remember this—every member of that family, and it is very influential, is my devoted friend. They assured me, individually and privately, that they would never forget me, and they haven't.

Did I find a way out for Mr. O'Leich? Well, rather! Shortly after these occurrences, all the papers contained this notice, or words to this effect:

I have laughed a hundred times to myself, as I have pictured the scene, when Mr. O'Leich casually handed the morning Herald to his wife, and heard her say, as I am sure she did:

“Dan, dear, you always were the kindest man in the world. How good of you!”