Read Online The Prudence of the Flesh by Ralph McInerny - Free Book Online

you.”
    â€œI suppose. He understands that it is not a question of money. Lawyers seem to think that money solves everything.”
    â€œThey themselves get a good portion of the settlement, of course.”
    â€œIs that true?”
    â€œI am a lawyer.”
    â€œA lawyer!”
    â€œWe are not all so bad.”
    â€œAnd why should I consider myself just one of an army of plaintiffs? My case is unique.”
    â€œTell me how the memory came back to you.”
    â€œOh, that was just a ruse. Do you think I could have forgotten a thing like that? I kept quiet about it, of course.”
    â€œThat might weaken your case.”
    She smiled. “Oh, no. I always have Marvin.”
    Someone to fall back on in defeat? Marvin had once again appeared in the kitchen door. The lad seemed a slender reed to lean on.
    â€œMarvin is his son, you see.”
    Tuttle’s mind was not slow—when his own advantage was involved,he could think with astonishing rapidity—but now his mind seemed to slip into neutral. He looked at Madeline, at her sad, sweet, knowing smile. Over her shoulder, the slouching Marvin still chewed on his sandwich. The son of Gregory Barrett?
    â€œWe must hold that back, for maximum effect.”
    They shook hands solemnly. Before leaving he advised her to have nothing to do with Henry Drummond. No need for clients to meet one another.

14
    â€œPerhaps you saw my story on Father Dowling in the
Tribune
?”
    â€œYou wrote that?” Gregory Barrett looked at his visitor. Ned Bunting seemed of average intelligence, was certainly of more than average height, and wore an expectant smile.
    â€œIt was a labor of love.”
    Good Lord. Someone should have translated it into English. “I know Father Dowling.”
    â€œI understand you were classmates.”
    â€œDid he tell you that?”
    â€œWhy would he? But you see the connection between what I wrote of him and what I could write about you. Schoolmates, for a time priests together, and then a parting of the ways . . .”
    â€œYou will write no story about me, Mr. Bunting.”
    â€œYes. I will. The choice is whether I do it with or without yourcooperation. Of course I know the charge that has been brought against you.”
    Once Gregory Barrett’s life had been lived under the sign of Christian charity—every person was beloved of God and should be treated as such—but in recent years he had adopted the canons of civility as sufficient for his dealings with others. This had involved no outward change. In either case, striking a man would have been ruled out. When Madeline Murphy had made her accusation, he had felt a sudden surge of anger, but it had no target, certainly not that pathetic woman. He stood and for a moment was certain he would strike Bunting. What he did was come around his desk, take his visitor by the elbow, and escort him into the hallway. When he let go he gave a little push, and Ned Bunting staggered away, his expression one of disbelief. Then, noticing something over Barrett’s shoulder, he reeled and crashed to the floor. Barrett turned to face Sinclair, the station manager.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Greg?”
    â€œYou saw what he did,” Bunting cried from the floor. “He assaulted me, a writer!”
    Sinclair laughed. “I saw you throw yourself down on the floor.”
    Bunting had a little trouble getting to his feet. He looked at Barrett as if seeking appropriate words and, finding none, glared at Sinclair. Then he was gone.
    â€œWhat was that all about?”
    â€œHe wanted to write a story about me.”
    Sinclair’s brows went up. “What’s wrong with a little publicity?”
    â€œDid you see that piece in the
Tribune
about the parish priest?”
    â€œI couldn’t read it.”
    â€œNow you have part of my reason for throwing him out.”
    Sinclair supplied the rest of the reason without saying it and laid