CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
NOVEMBER 1872
The paper sold more than two hundred fifty thousand copies in three days, and now, halfway into our fourth day of sales, Tennie and I were on our way back to the office with three thousand more copies tied in freshly printed bundles on the seat and floor and lashed to the back of our carriage. The woody scent of paper pulp was bravely trying to hold its own against the astringent bite of the ink, both of which were stinking up the cabin.
We were only a few blocks from our office when the driver stopped the carriage. At first, I paid no attention to the male voices outside, thinking it a routine stop for traffic or so that the driver could help someone in need. But then the door was wrenched open to reveal a mustachioed police officer in his navy uniform
