He's got a big job on his hands--cleaning up San Francisco.... You
ought to know, Dave Broderick," he laughed meaningly. "Here's to
him, anyhow."
"Don't know if I should drink to that or not," Broderick ruminated,
smiling. "May get after me. I'll take a chance, though. King's straight.
I can always get on with a straight man." He raised his glass.
A friend of Richardson's came up. Broderick did not know him, but he
recognized at his side the well-groomed figure of Charles Cora, gambler
and dandy. "Wancha t'meet Charley," said the introducer, unsteadily, to
Richardson. "Bes' li'l man ever lived." Richardson held out his hand a
bit reluctantly. Cora's sort were somewhat declasse. "Have a drink?"
he invited.
Broderick left them together. Later he saw Richardson quit the gambler's
presence abruptly. The other took a few steps after him, then fell back
with a shrug. Broderick heard the deputy-marshal mutter: "Too damned
fresh; positively insulting," but he thought little of it. Richardson
was apt to grow choleric while drinking. He often fancied himself
insulted, but usually forgot it quickly. So Broderick merely smiled.
On the following day he chanced again upon Richardson, who, to
Broderick's astonishment, still brooded over Cora's "impudent remark.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245