they were free from being observed, but it was Mary who calmly, a yard or two from M.M.‘s or policemen, distributed crumpled-up copies of:
A Little Sunday-school Life of
JOHN SULLIVAN REEK
Second-class Political Crook, &
Certain Entertaining Pictures of
Col. Dewey Haik, Torturer.
These crumpled pamphlets she took from a specially made inside pocket of her mink coat; one reaching from shoulder to waist. It had been recommended by John Pollikop, whose helpful lady had aforetime used just such a pocket for illicit booze. The crumpling had been done carefully. Seen from two yards away, the pamphlets looked like any waste paper, but each was systematically so wadded up that the words, printed in bold red type, “Haik himself kicked an old man to death” caught the eye. And, lying in corner trash baskets, in innocent toy wagons before hardware stores, among oranges in a fruit store where they had gone to buy David a bar of chocolate, they caught some hundreds of eyes in Burlington that day.
On their way home, with David sitting in front beside Buck and Mary in the back, she cried, “That will stir ’em up! But oh, when Daddy has finished his booklet on Swan — God!”
David peeped back at her. She sat with eyes closed, with hands clenched.
He whispered to Buck, “I wish Mother wouldn’t get so excited.”
“She’s the finest woman living, Dave.”
“I know it, but — She scares me so!”
