John McAnarney was the head of the family, partly from being the eldest but mostly because of his assimilated dignity. White-haired, formal in speech and sedate in manner, he had in his late middle age come to resemble the Yankee prototypes that the Irish were replacing. He kept a second office in Boston where, as the years passed, he spent the greater part of his time, concerning himself more with banks and investments than actions and torts. He moved familiarly in the Boston legal world that was so much a postgraduate extension of the Harvard Law School; he numbered his acquaintances from the law firms with the triple-barreled names; he became a recognized figure on the well-beaten path from State Street through Pemberton Square to the State House. Thomas, the judge, was the family wit. Frail and in failing health, his legal work off the bench had become nominal. Jerry was the trial lawyer of the family. He was Jerry to everybody. The priest who baptized him had been the last to call him Jeremiah. Unlike John, he had not conformed to State Street, and his speech still bore traces of the South Boston flats. Short, short-mustached, ruddy-faced, he had a tendency to trip over his grammar if he became excited. When he hurried down the street, as he always did, he seemed to do a little clog dance. He had a habit of buttonholing people, in the literal sense, emphasizing the point he was making with a jab of an index finger toward his auditor’s chest. He also had the reputation of winning his cases. When Moore, prodded by the committee, finally decided to use local reinforcement, he consulted James Sisk, with whom he had worked on the Ettor-Giovannitti case in Lawrence. Sisk, who had since been appointed to the superior court, recommended the McAnarney combination. Moore went to John in his Boston office. McAnarney said he no longer took court cases. His brother Jerry, he felt, would be the one to deal with a case like this, with Tom perhaps helping out. He would talk it over with them, but before doing so he wanted to know more about the two Italians. Like everyone else, he had been shocked by the South Braintree murders. Any man, it was true, was entitled to a defense, but if Sacco and Vanzetti had been in any way concerned with this crime his office wanted nothing to do with keeping them from getting the punishment they deserved. Only if the men were innocent would the McAnarneys consider taking part. Moore was convincing.