"I will assist, most assuredly, if assistance is needed," I replied.
"Well, then, walk right along in. I guess I'll go home."
"Don't be too hasty, Jim," I said, in a lower tone. "I want to see you in about two minutes."
Jim gave a grunt of dissatisfaction, but seated himself, nevertheless, on one of Porter's empty butter tubs, that stood just beside a window.
I passed in and added myself to the large group of men huddled close together near the middle of the long store, and talking earnestly and angrily, with excitement, fiercely, or foolishly, as the case might be.
The fire-brand had been dropped in among them, by whom they never could have told, had they stopped once to consider; but they did not consider. Someone had hinted at the possibility of finding the body of little Effie Beale in the possession of the new doctor, and that was enough. Guilty or innocent, Dr. Bethel must pay the penalty of his reticence, his newness, and his independence. Not being numbered among the acceptable institutions of Trafton, he need expect no quarter.
It seemed that the child had been under his care, and looking at the matter from a cold-blooded, scientific standpoint, it appeared to me not impossible that the doctor had disinterred the body, and I soon realized that should he be found guilty, or even be unable to prove his innocence, it would go hard with Dr. Bethel.
Among those who cautioned the overheated ones, and urged prudence, and calm judgment, was Arch Brookhouse; but, somehow, his words only served to add fuel to the flame; while, chief among the turbulent ones, who urged extreme measures, was Tom Briggs, and I noted that he was also supported by three or four fellows of the same caliber, two of whom I had never seen before.