The coffin was carried from the house by eight pallbearers, all in the uniform of the force. The narrow street was crowded with men, women and children, all of them eager for a last look at the plain brown casket. While the coffin was being lifted into the hearse, the men bared their heads; most of the women held handkerchiefs to their eyes. Even the children kept an awed and reverent silence. All but one of them. A lad of about seven, redheaded, chubby, strong-necked and slightly bandy, pushed his smaller sister and called out, “Look! Cap’n Jimmy’s in that!”
Cap’n Jimmy—that’s what he was to his friends in the neighborhood—and by “friends” we mean everyone within a radius of five blocks, old enough to walk, crawl or be wheeled about in the streets. As a boy and young man he had been merely Jimmy; then he “made the cops” and after a phenomenal career of seven years reached the rank of captain. But even at that he was never promoted from Jimmy to James.
The parents came out of the house and entered the first coach. Then came Commissioner Anderson and by his side Alan Nevins, a plain-clothesman with the rank of sergeant.
Nevins had come half way down the stoop, when he suddenly faltered. The commissioner seized him by the arm and said, rather roughly, “Come! Come! Don’t go to pieces! Steady now!”
Thereupon the commissioner had a violent coughing spell, which was strange, considering it was a warm April day, that he had no cold, and that nothing he had tried to swallow had lodged in his throat.
So Captain of Police James Cornell was buried.
The story continues … buy it today and find out who killed Cap’n Jimmy and if Marguerite will get her justice!
- Captain’s Funeral
- The Mogul
- My Lesson In Slang
- A Job For Someone With Brains
- The Letter In The Safe
- None Of Your Damn Business
- Some Friends of Mine
- Blue Diamonds Silver Lining
- A Meeting
- A Shover
- A Game of Dominoes
- Marge Is With Us, Boys
- J. Stanley Bradshaw
- Somewhat Muffled Report
- In Memoriam