“I mean social affairs. They haven’t been driving peaceful citizens away from the Country Club by their cork-popping quite so much, have they? I thought not; that’s good. The general reform wave may hit them yet.”
“On the dead, I think Copeland’s trying to cut out the early morning parties,” said Jerry earnestly. “He’s taken a brace.”
“If he doesn’t want to die in the poorhouse at the early age of fifty, he’d better!” Eaton brushed an imaginary speck off his cuff as he asked, “How much did your boss give you of the five thousand you got back for him out of that poker game?”
Amidon fidgeted and colored deeply.
“Just another of these fairy stories!”
“Your attempt to feign ignorance is laudable, Amidon. But my information is exact. Rather neat, particularly lifting him right out of the patrol wagon, so to speak. And recovering the check; creditable to your tact—highly so!”
Jerry grinned.
“Oh, it was dead easy! You see, after helping the gang lick you in the primaries last May, they couldn’t go back on me.”
“If you turned your influence to nobler use, this would be a very different world! Let us go back to that Corrigan matter—you remember?” asked Eaton, filling his pipe. “You probably noticed that the gentleman who was arrested for murder down there was duly convicted. His lawyer didn’t do him much good. No wonder! I never saw a case more miserably handled—stupid beyond words.”
“You wasn’t down there!” exclaimed Jerry, sitting up straight.