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I don't believe you're the regular driver, anyway. Where'd you get it?" "It ain't my cab, of course," said Gallegher, with an easy laugh. "It's Luke McGovern's. He left it outside Cronin's while he went in to get a drink, and he took too much, and me father told me to drive it round to the stable for him. I'm Cronin's son. McGovern ain't in no condition to drive.
As I have said, Gallegher lived in the most distant part of the city, not many minutes' walk from the Kensington railroad station, where trains ran into the suburbs and on to New York. It was in front of this station that a smoothly-shaven, well- dressed man brushed past Gallegher and hurried up the steps to the ticket office.
Gallegher stopped and straightened himself as though about to tell with proper dramatic effect the story of the night's adventure, and then, as though the awe of it still hung upon him, backed slowly to the door, and said, confusedly, "No, sir; he was he didn't need it." Mrs.
Gallegher stopped with a gasp and with a trembling all over his little body, and his brain asked with a throb if it could be possible. But possibilities and probabilities were to be discovered later. Now was the time for action. He was after the man in a moment, hanging at his heels and his eyes moist with excitement.
I am afraid, now that I see these facts written down, that Gallegher was not a reputable character; but he was so very young and so very old for his years that we all liked him very much nevertheless.
Gallegher could not resist stepping into the ring, and after stamping the sawdust once or twice, as if to assure himself that he was really there, began dancing around it, and indulging in such a remarkable series of fistic manoeuvres with an imaginary adversary that the unimaginative detective precipitately backed into a corner of the barn.
It read: "Your man is near the Torresdale station, on Pennsylvania Railroad; take cab, and meet me at station. Wait until I come. With the exception of one at midnight, no other train stopped at Torresdale that evening, hence the direction to take a cab. The train to the city seemed to Gallegher to drag itself by inches.
"I hadn't bargained to race you against no patrol-wagons," said Gallegher to his animal; "but if they want a race, we'll give them a tough tussle for it, won't we?" Philadelphia, lying four miles to the south, sent up a faint yellow glow to the sky.
A second snow-covered form emerged suddenly from the shadow of the houses. "What is it, Reeder?" it asked. "Oh, nothing much," replied the first officer. "This kid hadn't any lamps lit, so I called to him to stop and he didn't do it, so I whistled to you. It's all right, though. He's just taking it round to Bachman's. Go ahead," he added, sulkily. "Get up!" chirped Gallegher.
Dwyer could brook, and he excitedly raised his hand in resistance. But before he had time to do anything foolish his wrist was gripped by one strong little hand, and he was conscious that another was picking the pocket of his great-coat. He slapped his hands to his sides, and, looking down, saw Gallegher standing close behind him and holding him by the wrist. Mr.
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