Chapter 16
Funeral
I CAUGHT THE two-fifteen train for Duquesne, tried to read a paper on the way out— and got off at the station at three o’clock.
The town looked as dirty as ever— mill smoke was blowing back toward the crest of the slope beyond the river. I spent thirty minutes moving around the hunky section of town and asking dumb questions about the Widow Gunsten. The answers weren’t worth much. Some of the men had forgotten her— several had never heard of her. One mill worker grinned and said he didn’t blame the chief of police.
I found that Monkerson was the big burial gent in the hunky part of town. He had a frame building on a corner, down near a section of the steel plant walls from which a lot of pounding sound was drifting. His place was ore-dust-stained and had faded flower
