A March to Remember by Anna Loan-Wilsey Page B

Dr. Grice?” Sir Arthur said.
    â€œSir Arthur Windom-Greene, please meet my sister, Mrs. Daniel Clayworth,” Walter said.
    â€œDelighted. And this,” Sir Arthur said, indicating the man I’d seen at the bawdy house, “is Simeon Harper, a—shall we say—colleague of mine. He’s a journalist who’s been marching with Coxey since that dime museum business in Allegheny City.”
    The episode had filled all the newspapers. The proprietor of a dime museum invited Coxey and his men to be one of the exhibits for a week. Coxey had declined, declaring, “We will have no dime museum freaks in this aggregation.” When three members of the Commonweal accepted the dime museum owner’s invitation, Coxey expelled all three men forever from the army.
    â€œCoxey’s Army!” Sarah declared. “I have followed the newspapers’ accounts since the man stepped foot out of his front door in Ohio. You must tell us some of your personal stories.”
    Yes, Mr. Harper, do. Tell us why you were interviewing a fallen woman on the doorstep of a bawdy house this morning.
    Of course, I never said such a thing and felt ashamed even after I thought it. And, in fact, I was as eager as Sarah to hear the stories of his adventures with the Coxeyites. But my curiosity had been piqued. Did Sir Arthur know his colleague was in Hooker’s Division this morning? What would he think if he did? And why was Mr. Harper, journalist or not, associating with a woman like that, especially since he was supposedly reporting on Coxey’s Army? Did Coxey’s Army have a connection with the bagnio? If only I could ask such a question.
    â€œOf course, Mrs. Clayworth,” Mr. Harper was saying as he unwrapped a piece of Wrigley’s chewing gum. “And who is this lovely lady?” Again I’d been left out of the introductions. This time I wasn’t offended; I was uneasy. Whether I was more uneasy being caught ruminating on such thoughts by the very man I was thinking about or as the object of that man’s regard, I wasn’t sure.
    â€œMiss Davish is my personal secretary,” Sir Arthur said.
    â€œAh, I’ve heard about you,” Mr. Harper said, popping the chewing gum into his mouth.
    He had? First Mrs. Cleveland and now this journalist. Why was Sir Arthur mentioning me to his acquaintances?
    Before I could consider the reasons further, Sir Arthur said, “Now, Harper, after that heated discussion in the Senate, you must tell us something we don’t know about Coxey and his band of misfit men.”
    â€œWhat would you like to know?”
    â€œIs it true Carl Browne was once a journalist, like you?” Sir Arthur asked.
    â€œIndeed, among other things. Unlike Coxey, who is a respected businessman, Browne has had a questionable career as a journalist, a political agitator, a patent medicine salesman, a carnival barker, a sketch artist, and a painter.”
    â€œThe man’s a charlatan,” Senator Smith grumbled.
    â€œWhat would you like to know?” the journalist said, leaning in toward me. I could smell the spearmint on his breath. If our engagement had been public knowledge, Walter would’ve put his arm around me or confronted Mr. Harper for the lingering look he was now giving me. Regardless, Walter took an almost imperceptible step closer.
    My mind raced through the dozens of questions I had about the marchers, but with the man so close, I said the first thing that popped into my head. “Since you were there, do you believe the rumors that the Secret Service has had agents among Coxey’s men at least since Allegheny City?”
    â€œMy, my, Sir Arthur, you told me your secretary had done a little investigative work for you in the past, but I had no idea she would be competing with me for a byline.”
    â€œWhat?” Sir Arthur said.
    â€œWhere did you hear said rumors, Miss Davish?” Mr. Harper’s lascivious