When the cloth was removed, Mr. Thomas Potter ordered the waiter to bring in two goes of his best Scotch whiskey, with warm water and sugar, and a couple of his very mildest Havannas,

It was a casual sneer, obviously one of a long line. There was hatred behind it, but of a quiet, chronic type, nothing new or unduly virulent, and he was taken aback by the flicker of amazed incredulity that passed over the younger man's ravaged face.

Careful exploration may disclose the existence of an elevated jungleless plateau, or the rolling foot-hills of some undiscovered ridge […]

Few arrests were made and the city was alive to the sound of screeching tyres, the chatter of the Chicago typewriter or Tommy gun (which was invented just too late for the First World War but just in time for Capone & Co) and the music of the speakeasies and juke joints.