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Updated: July 17, 2025
"Aw, we all have criminal tendencies, far as that goes," growled Foley; "you and I and all of us. Don't know as I'm what you'd call fond of the kid. Maybe it's his name. Yes, I guess it's his name. Now what is your wildest guess for that little devil's name, Mr. Seaton?" The gray-hatred man shook his head. "Pat Donahue, by his hair." "But not by his face, if you could see it.
A man about twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with a smooth face, was sauntering toward us with his hands in his coat pockets. Policeman Donahue stopped him with a courteous wave of his club. "Evening, Kerry," he said. "Here's a couple of gents, friends of mine, that want to hear you spiel something about the Bowery. Can you reel 'em off a few yards?"
As the human buffers between guests and hotel management, it was the duty of Sadie Corn and her diplomatic squad to pacify the peevish, to smooth the path of the paying. Down the hall strolled Donahue, the house detective Donahue the leisurely. Donahue the keen-eyed, Donahue the guileless looking in his evening clothes for all the world like a prosperous diner-out.
Take a look," and he lifts the flap at the end. "What the deuce!" says Whitey. "Sawdust," says Mike, "just plain, everyday sawdust. I had it analyzed, no dope, no nothing. Now tell me, would anyone but a nut do a thing like that?" We both agreed nobody but a nut would; also we remarks in chorus that Mr. Donahue is some classy sleuth, which he don't object to at all.
"No wan knowed she had th' bicycle, because she wint out afther dark an' practised on it down be th' dump. But las' Friday ev'nin', lo an' behold, whin th' r-road was crowded with people fr'm th' brick-yards an' th' gas-house an' th' mills, who shud come ridin' along be th' thracks, bumpin' an' holdin' on, but Molly Donahue? An' dhressed! How d'ye suppose she was dhressed? In pa-ants, Jawn avick.
''Tis a mel-odjious insthrument, says she. 'I cud sit here be the hour an' listen to Bootoven and Choochooski, she says. "'What did thim write? says Cassidy. 'Chunes, says Donahue, 'chunes: Molly, he says, 'fetch 'er th' wallop to make th' gintlemen feel good, he says. 'What 'll it be, la-ads? 'D'ye know "Down be th' Tan-yard Side"? says Slavin. 'No, says Molly.
They were supplied with slickers, and they had been wet many a time before. Frenchy Donahue raised his shrill voice in the old dirge: "Aren't you glad you're a Navy man? Oh, mother!" and had not intoned the first lachrymose verse through to the end before Ikey Rosenmeyer interrupted with a shout: "Look there! She's broke loose! Hey, fellers! don't you see it?"
It was a roughish, brownish mass about the size of a man's closed fist, and looking like a bit of dirty glass let into the wall of the cliff. "That's it!" he cried "that's it!" "That's what?" "Why, man, a diamond, and such a one as there isn't a monarch in Europe but would envy Tom Donahue the possession of. Up with your crowbar, and we'll soon exorcise the demon of Sasassa Valley!"
Donahue told her that he believed the term "knocker" came originally from baseball; that in general it typified the player who strengthened his own standing by belittling the ability of his team-mates, and by enlarging upon his own superior qualities. But there were many phases of this peculiar type.
MacMasters must have been relieved of the command of her before this, don't you think?" "Don't know," Whistler rejoined, breaking off in his whistling briefly. "But where is he?" queried the anxious Frenchy. "Don't worry," Whistler said. "He'll be here." "Oi, oi! If he don't come," said Ikey, "we're marooned, eh?" "That'll be fierce!" growled Frenchy Donahue.
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