The Old Reporter
the white mustache was presently saying, sneeringly, "you seem to know so much about my brother and his affairs, why don't you go and ask him?"
The red-faced son was leering at Woods, who replied, "I don't know his address, do you?"
"Oh, ho! you can't lead me into telling you in that way. I'm a lawyer, young man," and the clerks laughed.
"You don't know where he is either," said Woods. "It's a matter of opinion now."
"You don't say so," remarked the other, scornfully; "and how is it a matter of opinion?"
"Your brother," said Billy, suddenly, "blew his brains out an hour ago, and that's the reason I'm down here." Then the lawyer flopped down flat upon the rug as Billy had never seen happen off the stage.
When he came to he wanted to know all that Woods knew; he was pitifully docile. Woods told him, but not without also extracting what he wanted to know.
It was not interesting to Woods—not as
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