Jim, his face the color of a pork rind, followed dog-like at the heels of his boss.

And when they had passed, the tent began to belch forth men who walked with heads and shoulders a little bent, talking together under their breaths of this man who dared defy the Committee to its face, and whose daring was as impotent as the breeze that still pulled at the flapping corner of the cloth sign over the door of his place.
Bill glanced dully up at the sign before he opened his door.

"Better get the hammer and nail that corner down, Jim," he said morosely, and went in.

He poured a whisky glass two-thirds full of liquor and emptied it with one long swallow--and Bill was not a drinking man.
"God! This thing they call justice!" he groaned, as he set down the glass; and went out to make an attempt at organizing a rescue party, though he had little hope of succeeding.

Jack was a stranger to the better class of business men, and those who did know him were either friends of the Committee or in deadly fear of it.