adamant. All names, she stated, except the Irish ones, had
to be Americanized. That was the first step in
Americanization. ManN a poor fellow won a new name
that night.
The name taking took lip most of the session but there
was time for a short lesson. "Now, gentlemen," said Miss
McCarthy, "we'll
~ 49 1
start with a topic of current importance. The protective
tariff." She explained the tariff as something the
Republicans in Congress were devising to ruin the
country. She used the proposed tariff on tin as an
example. "Tomorrow, you can go into a certain store and
buy a the cup for five cents. Next year, if Mr. McKinley
has his way, the same tin cup, in the same store, will cost
you twenty-five cents."
"Pst, Mick Mack," whispered Patsy across the aisle.
"What store does she mean?"
"Why, the certain store what sells tin cups," said Mick
Mack.
Patsy gave him a contemptuous look as he thought: Why
the durtee little showoff of a Unseen!
He spoke to me! thought Mick Mack rapturously. Now I
have a friend!
Patsy liked to go to night school. He liked to dress up
and have Mary wave to him from the parlor window as he
left. He liked the admiring glances the girls walking on the
street gave him. He liked his teacher and he liked to
despise Mick Mack. It made him glow all over
It was coming on Christmas and Miss McCarthy made
an announcement. "Tomorrow will be our last class before
the Christmas vacation. No one of you is to bring me a
Christmas present of any sort whatever. Is that clear?"
The next night, the last session, she came in lugging a
large suitcase. "What's that for?" Patsy whispered to Mick
Mack.
"Christmas presents."
"What Christmas presents?"
"What we all is going to give her."
True, there was a Christmas-wrapped package on every
desk but his. He was the only one who had taken her
literally. He was embarrassed. He liked his teacher and
would have liked to give her a present.
"But why did she say nobody was supposed to give her
a present? "
" 'Tis the style in Amtrica," said Mick Mack, "to say you
don't want no presents, it being a hint that means don't
forget to give me a present."
"Someday," said Patsy, grinding his teeth, "you're going to
get
[ so 1
Bucked right in the nose because YOU think YOU know so
much." "And you, me friend, will be at me side to lick hell
out of the man what tries it."
It was June and school was over. Patsy escorted Miss
McCarthy home to avoid walking with Mick Mack. He
knew the little man would get sentimental, want to
exchange addresses, to plan other meetings, and Patsy
wanted none of that.
Patsy missed the classes. He was sorry he hadn't
obtained Mick Mack's address. Not that he liked the man.
Oh, no! It was just that Patsy had a couple ol things to say
to him that he, Mick Mack, wouldn't like at all. He felt he
hadn't put Mick Mack in his place. He still had a thing or
two he'd like to tell him.
:t CHAPTER SEVEN V
PATSY had been in Armerica a year. His steamship
passage was paid in full and he owed nothing more on his
clothes. He had about thirty dollars saved. He'd heard
from his mother twice in the year. Both letters told him
his had been received and hoped more would follow. She
wrote no news of Maggie Rose or of the people he knew;
of the village or of herself. Both letters were copied from
Bertie's book with no personal interpolations.
Patsy felt he ought to leave Moriarity and get a better
job but he didn't know how to go about it. Then he
reasoned that a nev. job might be worse than the old.
Eventually, he decided it was better to put up with the
drawbacks he had become used to than to take on
unknown ones. Besides, in a Ray, he would have missed
Mary. He was not at all in love with her but he had come
to depend on her kindness and her understanding ways.
Each time he thought of Biddy, however, he thought a
new job couldn't be worse than the one he had. She was
a nuisance. He suffered many indignities from her. She
made him run trivial errands and help with the dishes. She
made him listen to her tire
[,,/ 1
some views on life, love, drinking, religion and w hat not. When he showed his
lack of interest, she had a way of getting close to him and nudging him with her
big, hard bust until she had him backed into a corner. There she held him with
her barrier bust and made him listen to her homilies. Jessie, one of the mares,
had the same trick of nudging him into a corner and leaning against him when
he tried to curry her.
Biddy was also getting what he called forward. She was the kind that, had he
made advances to her, she'd have cracked his head open. But she was also the
type who would crack his head open if he intimated that she wasn't worth
making advances to.
She had him nudged into a corner one afternoon, trying to get him to agree
with her that Teddy Roosevelt had false teeth. He thought otherwise but was on
the point of agreeing with her in order to get away, when she suddenly dropped
the argument and, in plain earthy words, made him a point-blank proposition.
Now Patrick Dennis was not one to refuse any bounty that came his way, but
he liked his bounty young and fresh and softly yielding and not ~ron-bound like
Biddy.
"I could not do so," he blurted out, ''witll you."
"So you think you could do better, eh?" she said ominously.
" 'Tis not that," he said placatingly, "but 'twould have to be with marrying."
God forgive the lie, he thought, but what a grand, good way to get out of this
sitchee,~sh?~n.
"I got to marry you for that?" she gasped. "Why you're the last man I'd think
of marrying."
"Who was asking you?" he said. "If I couldn't do better . . ."
"What'd you say?" she growled.
"Nothing," he said hastily. "And take me apology for it if I did. Sure and
you'd make me a fine wife, the way you work hard and the way you're
healthy...."
"Oh, Paddy, dear!" She fluttered her eyes.
"Only," he continued, "I would want a younger woman . . . not too young,"
he added hastily, afraid of insulting her again.
"Someone about Miss Mary's age?" she asked.
"I do not think about her that way--as me wife," he said.
"You think right," she said. "She'd never marry a stable boy."
[ S' ]
"She could go farther and do worse," said Patsy, stung.
"Why, she wouldn't even spit on the likes of you!"
"She would so," cried Patsy indignantly.
The argument went on.
>
Because of Biddy's forever saying that Mary wouldn't
spit Oil him and that he wasn't fit to clean her shoes and
because MoriaritNwas always warning him not to get
"idears" about his daughter, Patsy gave more and more
thought to Mary.
I don't want her, he thought, and the Lord knows she don
t want me and not because I'm a stable boy either. This is
not the old country where the stable boy does not marry the
lord's daughter. This is America, where 'tis the style, like
Mick Mack would say, f or the poor working man to marry
the boss's daughter. Then, books she gives me to read: All
about poor boys what marries the rich boss's daughter and
the poor boy then owns the factory when the old man
croaks. A thought struck him. Did she ask me to read that
book thinking that I'd get the hint, marry her and . . . ah,
no, he decided; she ain't tricky the way women is.
Is she far above me like Biddy says? Sure, she has the
grand education sitting in school till she was twenty studying
to be a teacher. and meself? Six years of schooling I had.
But did I not learn Latin good the way Father hit me on me
head with his shillelagh (at ter Mass, to give him his due)
when I didn't say it right when I was his altar boy?
She plays the piano to be sure. But do l not have the ear
for music the way I can . . . the way I could, keep time to
any tune was played the while I Jigged?
She's rich and I'm poor. And that's the God's truth. But
all her father's money couldn't buy for her what I do have
for nothing: me youth. I'm twenty-one and she's
twenty-seven. And that's old old for a woman not yet
married.
When I go walking, I could walk with a girl on each arm
fat the asking. But poor Miss .lIary! Sure and she's never had
a man make up to her. Then there is looks. She is sweet?
but ah, she's plain in her face. So plain. And where is her
shape? And me? I'd be Iying to meself did I not tell meself
I'm good looking and I'll say an Act of Contrition for I've
pride in me looks before I sleep this night.
1, 1
SO, Patsy came to his conclusion. She wouldn't lie so
lead oJJ marrying me. But I will not think of it for do I not
love Maggie Rose and I could never love another. And does
she not wait for me with love? 'Tis a lie she has another
feller. She could love no one else after me. And when I get
ore thousand dollars saved up, I'll go flack. I'll tell her the
plaiting time is over and . . .
And so he dreamed.
It was September of his second year in America. After
supper now, Patsy sat on the stone bench in the paved
areaway onto which the iron-grilled door of the basement
dining room opened. He'd sit there and smoke an
after-supper pipe, trying to put off the time when he'd
have to go back to his miserable little room.
He watched the comings and goings of the people on
the street and stared at the folk who climbed the step to
ring Moriarity's bell. He wasn't at all interested. He was
curious.
On Friday nights, many policemen, in and out of
uniform, came to the door. The procedure was always the
same. A cop rang the bell. Moriarity appeared and put
out his hand. Instead of shaking it, the cop put something
in it. The Boss put some of it back into the cop's hand
and the cop went down the stoop, saluting another cop
who was on the way up.
Eventually, his curiosity made him ask Biddy what it was
all about. She was appalled at his ignorance.
"And you living in the yard this year or more past and
you don't know? Why 'tis graft, yes, it is, what The Boss
is collecting. From the aitch houses. They can't run
without paying. The madams pay the cops so the cops
won't run them in. She cops pay our Boss so he won't
snitch on them to the Big Cheese."
"And who is the Big Cheese?"
"The feller what takes half the graft The Boss collects
from the cops what collects from the madams."
"Can't The Boss be arrested for that?"
"And who would artist him?"
"A cop.,'
"They can't because all the cops is in on the graft, too,
and who would arrest them?"
One October night, Patsy was sitting on the stone bench
smok
[ S4 ,
ing his stub-stem clay pipe when he saw a big cop heft
himself up the stoop. He was used to the cops coming but
this was different. This was a cop coming on Wednesday
night. The other cops came on Friday night.
The big cop pressed the button. Moriarity opened the
door and put out his hand. Instead of putting something
into it, the cop shook it warmly. The Boss, surprised,
pulled his hand away and wiped it on his coat.
"Excuse me," said the Cop. "t live in East New York but
me beat is in Manhattan."
Patsy was alerted. There was something about that voice
. . .
"What the hell are you doing here then, in my precinct?
Go see the commissioner if you want a transfer."
"I came to see about . . ." Patsy lost the rest because the
big cop's voice dropped to a w Lisper. But he vitas sure
he heard his name mentioned. "And this is his address,"
concluded the cop in his normal voice. The Boss leaned
down over the stoop.
"Boy?" Patsy looked up. The Boss waited. Patsy got to
his feet. Still The Boss waited. Patsy took the pipe from
his mouth. Then Moriarity spoke. "Patrick, the officer
wants to see you. Take him to your room."
Patsy was up the ladder in a htlrry. He lit the kerosene
lamp while the big cop, with many a sigh and a wheeze,
hefted himself up the ladder. The cop removed his
helmet. There was that nimbus of red around his 'ribald
head.... The cop looked around for a place to sit. His feet
hurt so. But there was only one chair in the room and he
was too polite to take it without an invitation. Finally
Patsy sat on the cot and the'r,ig man took the chair. He
sighed in relief.
He introduced himself: 'I'm the feller vv hat licked you
back in County Kilkenny nearly two years ago." yes, Patsy
had known it was Big Red. And what did he want of him
now, Patsy wondered.
"I don't hold it against meself that I licked you. I
thought it was right at the time. And I'm hoping that
you'll let bygones be bygones being's everything turned
out fine in the end."
Patsy's heart leaped up. Everything turned out fine, Big
Red said. Could that mean that Maggie Rose was in
America now with
[ ss 1
her big brother and Big Red had come to ask Patsy to
marry his sister? Yes. That's what he must have come for.
And he'd marry Maggie Rose. Yes, he would!
"Yes. It all turned out fine for you and
for me sister.
You've got a good job and me baby sister . . ."
Eagerly, Patsy leaned forward and put his hand on Big
Red's knee. He was so happy he could hardly speak.
"Maggie Rose! Where is she? How is she?"
"She's happy as a lark." He smiled tenderly. "She's
expecting."
"Expecting? Expecting what?"
"Sure and you must have heard? She married a few
months after you left."
"Who . . . who married?" croaked Patsy.
"Me sister. 'Twas from her husband I got your address."
"What husband?"
"Hers. You know him. The feller what sold you the
ticket to run away from me to America?" Big Red
laughed. "He was quite a ketch, :[ hear, the wav he came
ten miles on his bicycle twice a week to court her."
"He married her on me own wheel?" said Patsy,
bewildered. "And the money given me for it stolen?"
"How's that?" asked Big Red, equally perplexed.
"The I,iverpool sport?"
"I can't tell you what make 'twas."
"So she is married," said Patsy drearily.
"That she is. And happy, she writes me. Ah, I did you
wrong," said Big Red humbly, 'crossing the sea to come
between you. Many's the Novena I did for it. Ach, why
was we all against you? I was the worst. But me own
mother did her best to make the trouble and your mother,
God rest her sotll, wouldn't listen to me. ..."
"Me mother?,' interrupted Patsy. "You said, 'God rest . .
.'?"
That's how Patsy found out his mother had died. It was
almost too much to bear. In a few minutes he knew he'd
lost his Maggie Rose and his mother forever. Big Red
kept talking, hoping to get him over the first shock.
He assured the boy his mother had not died alone. Her
oldest boy, Neeley, who had gone to Australia before
Patsy was born,
~ Sly 1
had returned to her a few months before her death;
Neeley's wife having died and his children long since
scattered or married.
Patsy held in his grief. He didn't want Big Red to see
him weep. Men wept only before women; not before other
men. When Patsy could hold back his grief no longer, he
excused himself to Big Red, saying he needed to w ash his
face. He went down and washed in the horse trough. His
tears mingled freely with the water from the tap. He
thought as he wept:
Had I but stayed a while longer, he thought in anguish, l
could have held Maggie Rose to me and now with me mother
gone, the way would have been clear f or Maggie Rose and
me. Not that I'd have me mother die. But if she had to go .
. .
He dried his face with the rough towel that had been
issued him at the house and knelt before the trough to say
his prayer for the dead. The horses shifted weight in the
dark stable and made the straw rustle and Patsy was glad
for the company of the sound. The big yellow cat weaved
toward him, arched its back and leaned against his thigh
for an instant, then sat close to him, lifted a paw and
started to wash itself. Patsy felt less alone for the closeness
of the cat.
When he got back to his room, Big Red had Patsy's suit
and shirt, tie, socks and shoes laid out. He urged Patsy to
dress up.
"'Tis not right you spend the evening alone," said Big
Red. "The last thing me Lottie said to me when I left the
house was: 'You bring him home with you, hear? Don't let
the poor boy stay alone with his sorrow the night long.'
Ah, you'll like me Lottie," said Big Red. "She'll take your
mother's place in a way."
Patsy went because he didn't want to be alone. Big Red
held his arm. He thought the awareness of another human
being would help Patsy a little. He held him the only way
he knew how: the way he held a man he was arresting his
right hand clasped firmly about Patsy's upper left arm,
Patsy pulled close to him and propelled to walk a few
steps before Big Red. It looked like an arrest, Big Red