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Updated: May 13, 2025
Indeed, a more trusting man might have been excused for feeling a little doubtful as to the intentions of Jimmy and Spike. When McEachern had heard that Lord Dreever had brought home a casual London acquaintance, he had suspected as a possible drawback to the visit the existence of hidden motives on the part of the unknown.
McEachern, if he made an assault, might regret it subsequently. But he would not be the first to do so. The man who did that would be a certain James Pitt. If it came to blows, the younger man could not hope to hold his own with the huge policeman. "You!" roared McEachern. Jimmy fancied he could feel the wind of moving fist. "You marry me daughter! A New York crook. The sweepings of the Bowery.
Patrick McEachern would have known how to deal with his young acquaintance, Mr. Jimmy Pitt. But another plan of action was needed here. First of all, the hints on etiquette with which Lady Jane had favored him, from time to time, and foremost came the mandate: "Never make a scene."
When McEachern had heard that his stepson had brought home a casual London acquaintance, he had suspected the existence of hidden motives on the part of the unknown. Spennie, he had told himself, was precisely the sort of youth to whom the professional bunko-steerer would attach himself with shouts of joy.
"It's no good, father dear. I couldn't get to sleep. I've been trying hard for hours. I've counted sheep till I nearly screamed. It's Rastus' fault. He snores so!" Mr. McEachern regarded the erring bull-dog sternly. "Why do you have the brutes in your room?" "Why, to keep the boogaboos from getting me, of course. Aren't you afraid of the boogaboos getting you? But you're so big, you wouldn't mind.
But don't consider my feelings, Miss McEachern, please." Molly introduced Jimmy to the newcomer. They shook hands, Jimmy with something of the wariness of a boxer in the ring. He felt an instinctive distrust of this man. Why, he could not have said. Perhaps it was a certain subtle familiarity in his manner of speaking to Molly that annoyed him.
Quite the old English squire now, Mr. McEachern, what?" "Ye'll lave the house to-morrow." "All the more reason why we should make the most of this opportunity of talking over old times. Did you mind leaving the force?" "And ye'll take that blackguard Mullins wid ye." "Judging from the stories one hears, it must be a jolly sort of life. What a pity so many of them go in for graft.
McEachern had retired to his lair to smoke in his shirt sleeves the last and best cigar of the day, when his solitude was invaded by his old New York friend, Mr. Samuel Galer. "I've done a fair cop, sir," said Mr. Galer, without preamble, quivering with self-congratulation. "How's that?" said the master of the house. "A fair cop, sir. Caught him in the very blooming act, sir. Dark it was.
"I'm very sorry," he said, "but the fact is Miss McEachern has just promised to take me with her to feed the fowls. "I gamble on fowls," he thought. "There must be some in a high-class establishment of this kind." "I'd quite forgotten," said Molly. "I thought you had. We'd better start at once. Nothing upsets a fowl more than having to wait for dinner." "Nonsense, me dear Molly," said Mr.
"I hated being away from you." "But you liked the country?" "I loved it." McEachern drew a breath of relief. The only possible obstacle to the great change did not exist. "How would you like to go back to England, Molly?" "To England! When I've just come home?" "If I went, too?" Molly twisted around so that she could see his face better. "There's something the matter with you, father.
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