"Does Mr. Leveson dine about half-past six?" I asked.
The clerk raised his brows.
"That's queer," he said. "You're the second man to ask that question within an hour. Old man Panel asked the same thing."
"And what did you tell him?"
"Mr. Leveson don't dine till seven. He goes to the church first."
If the man had said that Leveson went to Heaven I could not have been more surprised. Then I remembered what I had read in the local papers. I had not seen the church yet. I had not wished to see it, knowing that every stone in it was paid for with the sweat--as Uncle Jap had put it--of other men's souls.
"Where is this church?"
"You don't know? Third turning to the left after passing the Olive Branch Saloon."
"Leveson owns that too, doesn't he?"
The clerk yawned. "I dare say. He owns most of the earth around here, and most of the people on it."