The following morning Keith woke early, slipped to the kitchen where he
was fed by Wing Sam, and was downtown before Nan, who had not so
promptly fallen asleep, had yet stirred. Even at that hour the streets
were crowded. Many--and the majority of these were "considerably
tight," or otherwise looking the worse for wear--had been up all night,
unable to tear themselves away from the fascinating centres of
excitement. The majority, however, had, like Keith, snatched some
repose, and now were out eager to discover what a new day might bring
forth.
The morning newspapers had been issued. Each man held a copy of one of
them open at the editorial column, and others tucked away under his
arm. Never had there been such a circulation; and in the case of the
_Herald_ never would so many be sold again. For that ill-starred sheet,
mistaking utterly the times, held boldly along the way of its
sympathies. It spoke of the assassination as an "affray"; held forth
violently against the mob spirit of the evening before; and stated
vehemently its opinion that, now that "Justice is regularly
administered" there was no excuse for even the threat of public
violence. If there had been any doubt as to the depth to which public
opinion was at last stirred, the reception of the _Herald's_ editorial
would have settled it. Actually, for the moment, indignation seemed to
run more strongly against that sheet than against Casey himself.
Keith glanced over this editorial with a half smile, tossed the paper
in the gutter, and opened the _Alta_ for news. King, still living, had
been removed from the office of the Express Company to a room in the
Montgomery Block. There, attended by his wife, Dr. Beverly Cole, and a
whole corps of volunteer physicians, he was making a fight for life.
The bullet had penetrated his left breast. That was all that was to be
reported at present. Keith glanced at the third page. His eye was
caught by this notice: