"He's wanted by the police, so you see he ain't so different from the
rest after all. He's a--"
"Don't, Tom," cried his wife.
"--a murderer," completed Braddock, rolling his cigar from one side of
his mouth to the other.
The girl stared at him for a moment, dumbly, uncomprehendingly. Her
lips parted and her eyes grew very wide.
"Oh, father," she cried, in low, hushed tones. Then she turned to her
mother, almost imploringly. "Is--is it true, mother?"
"Well, see here," broke in Braddock angrily. "Don't you believe me?
Haven't I said so?"
"He is the Jenison boy we were talking about last night, dearie," said
Mrs. Braddock. "I don't believe he committed that horrid crime. I
can't believe it."
"I am sure he didn't--I am sure he didn't," cried the girl
impulsively. "He is a gentleman, father. He couldn't--"
Braddock took instant offense. He hated to hear any one spoken of as a
gentleman.
"What's that got to do with it?" he demanded. "Gentleman, eh? You two
seem to think that these pretty gentlemen can't do anything wrong.
Why, they're rottener than nine-tenths of the blokes that follow this
show--every mother's son of 'em.
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