TOM GROGAN
sensible man as he was, had old-fashioned ideas of honesty and fair play. He had liked Tom from the first time he saw her,—he had looked after her stables professionally,—and he did not intend to see her, dead or alive, thrown out, without making a fight for her.
“I move,” said he, “that the president appoint a committee of this board to jump into the nearest wagon, drive to Mrs. Grogan's, and find out whether she is still alive. If she's dead, that settles it; but if she's alive, I will protest against anything being done about this matter for ten days. It won't take twenty minutes to find out; meantime we can take up the unfinished business of the last meeting.”
One of the gentlemen of leisure seconded this motion; it was carried unanimously, and this gentleman of leisure was himself appointed courier and left the room in a hurry. He had hardly reached the street when he was back again, followed closely by Dempsey, Quigg, Crimmins, Justice Rowan, and, last of all, fumbling with his fur cap, deathly pale, and entirely sober—Dan McGaw.
“There's no use of my going,” said the
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