“Young Mr. Gowen was angry. He had risen from his desk in a flush of temper, near hot enough to melt the wax on his mustache ends. Had I believed him a foolish man, I would have paid attention to his fists. “Damn me, Jones,” he continued, with unnecessary profanity, “we’ve only just gotten the Irish quieted down. And here you go disturbing their dead in the middle of the night. Do you want another riot, man? Or worse? You know what happened in Tremont with that train.” He drew his watch from his... waistcoat pocket, but did not open its lid or bother to look at it. He merely weighed it in his palm, as if he liked to feel time in his grip. Gold it was, although the fellow had debts. “As the district attorney for the county of Schuylkill, I demand an explanation. I demand it, Jones!” “Now, now, Mr. Gowen,” I told him. “There is no need for commotion. An explanation you will have, see. If only you will—” “Don’t play the little Welsh fool with me, Jones. I can see right through you.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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