“Whist!” retorted Mr. Grogan, “You don’t get me meaning. It’s not the kind you buy ice cream sodies for. No! This lady has a club in her fist and a punch in both elbows.”
“For you?”
“I suspicion so, and I’m oneasy in me mind.”
“It’s silly to worry, Mr. Grogan,” said Miss Masters, “sit down and look over the papers.” She extended a morning newspaper, smiling.
“I may as well.” Grogan took up the paper and selected a chair.
“Stirring times in Chicago, just now,” said the young woman.
“They’re stirring, all right,” Grogan agreed. “They’re too stirring. What I want is peace. I’d like to pass the rest of my days in quiet—quiet—and—”
The sentence expired on his lips as he stared at the front page of the paper held open in his hands.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Grogan,” said Miss Masters starting up, alarmed.
Grogan wiped his forehead and moistened his lips.