"That's good. We'd most give you up. This
here's Mr. Grist, and Mr. Henry P. Cullop, and Mr. Gus Schulmeyer--three
men that feel the same way about Dave Beasley that I do. That other
young feller," he waved a mittened hand to the fourth man--"he's from
the 'Journal.' Likely you're acquainted."
The young man from the 'Journal' was unknown to me; moreover, I was far
from overjoyed at his presence.
"I've got you newspaper men here," continued Mr. Peck, "because I'm
goin' to show you somep'n' about Dave Beasley that'll open a good many
folk's eyes when it's in print."
"Well, what is it?" I asked, rather sharply.
"Jest hold your horses a little bit," he retorted. "Grist and me knows,
and so do Mr. Cullop and Mr. Schulmeyer. And I'm goin' to take them and
you two reporters to LOOK at it. All ready? Then come on."
He threw open the door, stooped to the gust that took him by the throat,
and led the way out into the storm.
"What IS he up to?" I gasped to the "Journal" man as we followed in a
straggling line.
"I don't know any more than you do," he returned. "He thinks he's got
something that'll queer Beasley. Peck's an old fool, but it's just
possible he's got hold of something. Nearly everybody has ONE thing, at
least, that they don't want found out. It may be a good story. Lord,
what a night!"
I pushed ahead to the leader's side. "See here, Mr. Peck--" I began, but
he cut me off.
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