The Real Certificate

"I've sent for you," he said.

"Yis, and the fust thing--"

He interrupted her sharply.

"The first thing is, how much am I going to get out of this case
if I win it That is the first thing. You don't suppose I am going
to spend time and money and fight this case through all the Courts
in the land, and get nothing out of it, do you? How much am I to
get? We'll settle that before we go any further."

"Well, I'll ask Mick."

"You'll ask nobody. Mick isn't Grant's widow, and you are of age,
goodness knows. How much?"

"How much d'ye want?"

"I want one-third of what you get. That'll leave you nearly a million
of money. There will be well over a million to divide. There will
be a big lawsuit, and lots of appeals, and if I am to see it through
it will cost a great lot of money; so if I win I mean to make it
pay me. That's my figure. One-third. Take it or leave it."

Peggy wriggled about, but knew that she would have to give in. It
was a reasonable proposal, as things stood; but she did not like
the way in which she had been bullied. She looked at Blake queerly.

"If we have to give ye a third, ye may as well know all about it.
Ye'll be a partner like."

Blake stared at her. He could not guess what she was driving at.
Peggy slowly drew out of a handbag a faded piece of paper and handed
it to him without a word. It was the original marriage certificate,
the same that Ellen Harriott had seen at Red Mick's. He unfolded
it and spread it out on the table.