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"No, some one Tom McGinniss picked up on his beat, or would have picked up hadn't John and I come along. And that wet she was, and everything streamin' puddles, an' she, poor dear, draggled like a dog in the gutter." Felix's sheltering hand sagged suddenly, exposing for a moment his strained face and wide-open eyes.
All burned full of holes where that trollop throwed her matches." I hurried away, with a polite promise to consider the McGinniss accommodations. The abode of Mrs. Cunningham was but a few blocks away. Mrs. Cunningham did not live in a flat, but in the comparative gentility of "up-stairs rooms" over a gaudy undertaking establishment. She proved to be an Irish lady with a gin-laden breath.
So loud were the laughter and chatter, the good nights and good-bys, that big Tom McGinniss moved over from the opposite curb. "Halloo, John!" cried the policeman. "I thought I couldn't be mistaken. And Kitty, that you with your coffee-pot? I just come up from Lexington Avenue and heard the row, wondering what was up. Is it up-stairs ye were? WHAT! Dutchy givin' a ball? Oh, ye can't mean it!
"'Let me take a look at her, Tom, says I; an' I got close to her breath and there was no more liquor inside her than there is in me this minute. "'You'll do nothin' of the kind, Tom McGinniss, says I. 'This poor thing is beat out with cold and hunger. Give her to me. I'll take her home. Get hold of her, John, an' lift her up. "If ye'd 'a' seen her, Mr.
I'm Irish, and so is my John here, and Bobby, and Father Cruse, and Tom McGinniss, the policeman, and the captain up at the station-house we're all Irish, except Otto, who is as Dutch as sauerkraut! But where was I? Oh, yes! Now, John, dear, this gentleman is on his uppers, he says, and wants to hire our room and eat what we can give him."
Their mother, in curl-papers, gave explicit directions for my guidance upward. "Is this where Mrs. McGinniss lives?" I inquired of the dropsical slattern who responded to my rap. "I'm her." Mrs. McGinniss's manner was aggressive.
This was contrary to regulations, and would have been so considered but for the fact that the captain of the precinct often got his coffee in Kitty's back kitchen, as did Tom McGinniss, the big policeman, whose beat reached nearly to the tunnel, both men soothing their consciences with the argument that Kitty's job lasted so late and began so early, sometimes a couple of hours or so before daylight, that it was not worth while to bother about her wagons, when everybody else was in bed, or ought to be.
Then I'll engage to keep them still as O'Connell's legs in Phoenix Square." "Now, I shall report that you are considering my advice. You must be very gentle and placating to the guard, and let on that you have something on your mind." "Indeed, I needn't let on at all. I have as much on me mind as Biddy McGinniss had on her back when she carried Mick home from the gallows."
McGinniss lived on the fifth floor, that her bell was out of order, and that one should "Push Guggenheim's." The Guggenheims responded with a click from above. I ascended a flight of dark stairs, at the top of which there was ranged an ambuscade of numerous small Guggenheims who had gushed out in their underdrawers and petticoats.
We hadn't gone but a little way from the church, when John, who was walking ahead, come up agin Tom McGinniss. He was stooping over a woman huddled up on them big front steps before you get to the corner. "'What are you doin', Tom? says John. "'It's a drunk, he says, 'an I'll run her in an' she'll sleep it off and be all the better in the mornin'.
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