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Updated: June 4, 2025
He backed out of the alley, keeping a watchful eye on his fallen foe, and rejoined Henry Fosdick, who was awaiting his return. "Who was it, Dick?" he asked. "A partic'lar friend of mine, Micky Maguire," said Dick. "He playfully fired a rock at my head as a mark of his 'fection. He loves me like a brother, Micky does." "Rather a dangerous kind of a friend, I should think," said Fosdick.
And when she sees inside of it, she'll find it ain't for her, but a party." "What sort of a party, that's the p'int? Don't b'leeve my great-aunt knows no parties. Them she knows is inside of her farmily. Nevoos, sim'lar to myself as you might say. Or hequal value." An Academical degree would have qualified Micky to say "or its equivalent."
'Purty well, Micky, his head is out. 'Begorra, thin, I know th' rist ov 'im will be out soon I'll pay for no more masses! Your head is up and out from the bottom of th' world, and I haave faith that ye'll purty soon be all out, an' some day ye'll get the larger view, for ye'll be in a larger place an' ye'll haave seen more of people an' more of the world." I have two letters of that period.
"Maybe not," said Mickey. "It would be a good joke if he should lose his place and have to go back to boot-blacking again." "I wish he would," said Micky, fervently. "It 'ould cure him of puttin' on airs." "If, for example, his employer should be convinced that he was a thief, he would discharge him." "Do you know him, mister?" asked Micky, looking up suddenly. "Yes." "Is he a friend of yours?"
He went to the Wheeler house the next night, passing the door twice before he turned in and rang the bell, in order that his voice might be calm and his demeanor unshaken. But the fact that Micky, waiting on the porch, knew him and broke into yelps of happiness and ecstatic wriggling almost lost him his self-control. Walter Wheeler opened the door and admitted him.
Byrne myself telling how the children used to be lifted up in the bed at night, she could not see by what mains; and how they were starting and screeching every hour, just all as one as the housekeeper's little girl that died, till at last one night poor Micky had a dhrop in him, the way he used now and again; and what do you think in the middle of the night he thought he heard a noise on the stairs, and being in liquor, nothing less id do him but out he must go himself to see what was wrong.
She turned the key, and had actually thrown up the window-sash, when her own words crossed her mind her claim to veracity. No she would keep a clear conscience, come what might. She glanced up the Court, and saw Micky coming through the arch; then closed the window, and took an old leather purse from the drawer of the looking-glass Mr. Bartlett's men had not broken.
One morning, accordingly, having levied an unwilling contribution from a weaker but more industrious boot-black, Micky went to Baxter Street, and invested it in a blue coat with brass buttons, which, by some strange chain of circumstances, had found its way thither from some country town, where it may at one time have figured at trainings and on town-meeting days.
I'll remember him, one day!" A word in this is not the one Daverill used, and his adjective is twice omitted. Aunt M'riar's puzzled face produced a more temperate explanation, to the effect that Micky had carried the letter to a "tec," or detective, who had "got at him," and that the letter had been tampered with at the police-station.
When they reached the falls, they paused below them, and Micky held the torch close to the water, where it was quiet enough for them to observe the bottom. "Tell me whether ye can see anything resimbling fishes?" The lad peered into the water a minute, and them caught a flash of silver several times.
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