“Were, not was, Amidon! I should think you’d know I’d been in the wilderness from my emaciated appearance. Believe I did say I was going to Pittsburg, but I took the wrong train. Met some nice chaps while I was down there,—one or two friends of yours, road agents, pirates, commercial travelers, drummers,—I beg your pardon!”
Jerry was moved to despair. He would never be able to surround himself with the mystery or practice the secrecy that he found so fascinating in Eaton. He had not imagined that the lawyer would bother himself further about Corrigan. He had read of the conviction without emotion, but it would never have occurred to him that a man so busy as Eaton or so devoted to the comforts of life would spend three days in Belleville merely to watch the trial of a man in whom he had only the remotest interest.
“They soaked him for manslaughter. I guess he got off easy!”
“He did, indeed,” replied Eaton. “When did you see Nan last?”
“I’ve been there once since you took me, and the old man sent down word he wanted to see me. He was feeling good and lit into me about the store. Wanted to know about everything. Some of the fellows Copeland has kicked out have been up crying on Farley’s doorstep and he asked me how the boss came to let them go. He sent Nan out of the room so he could cuss better. He’s sure some cusser!”
“Amidon!” Eaton beat his knuckles on the desk sharply, “remember you are speaking English!”
“You’d better give me up,” moaned Jerry, crestfallen.
“You are doing well. With patience and care you will improve the quality of your diction. No reference to the Corrigan matter, I suppose,—either by Farley or Nan?”
“Not a word. It was the night I read about the end of the trial, but nothing was said about it.”
“She needn’t have worried,” Eaton remarked. “She was a very foolish little girl to have drawn her money out of the bank to hand over to a crooked lawyer.”