“Why not?” grinned Corrigan. “Yes, sir, the former president of the Midland Company was shot to death yesterday for pocket-picking.”
“Lord!” said Benham.
“So Levins’ wife sent Trevison for hubby,” said Corrigan, quietly. “She’s that thick with Trevison, is she?”
“Get that out of your mind, Jeff,” returned the banker, noting Corrigan’s tone. “Everybody that knows of the case will tell you that everything’s straight there.”
“Well,” Corrigan laughed, “I’m glad to hear it.”
The train steamed away as they talked, and the crowd began to break up and scatter toward the saloons. Before that happened, however, there was a great jam around Trevison; he was shaking hands right and left. Voices shouted that he was “all there!” As he started away he was forced to shove his way through the press around him.
Benham had been watching closely this evidence of Trevison’s popularity; he linked it with some words that his daughter had written to him regarding the man, and as a thought formed in his mind he spoke it.
“I’d reconsider about hooking up with that man Trevison, Corrigan. He’s one of those fellows that win popularity easily, and it won’t do you any good to antagonize him.”
“That’s all right,” laughed Corrigan, coldly.