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"You haven't forgot Ragged Dick, have ye?" "He's set up for a gentleman. I saw him a week ago strutting round as if he lived on Fifth Avenue." "Well, he's set up for something else now." "What's that?" "A pick-pocket." "What?" asked Jim, amazed. "He stole an old chap's pocket-book yesterday afternoon, and I seed a policeman haulin' him off to the p'lice station."
"'Magine me, Blue Pete, bes' shot in the Badlands, an' Canada, too, fer that matter least that's so, now Dutchy's gone, an' it was nip 'n' tuck between us 'magine me, cow-puncher from my born days, sometime rustler, sometime Mounted P'lice detective, sometime oh, sometime pretty near everythin' with a horse in it, an' a rifle, an' a rope 'magine me workin' 'longside a gang o' Dagoes 'n' Poles that think a knife's fer stickin' people, an' a rifle fer the P'lice . . . me shovin' rocks 'n' logs into a hole in the groun' that won't fill this side everlastin'! . . . Kin yuh 'magine it, ole woman?
Cut and torn into narrow stripes they had gone comfortably down the drains of the temperance hotel in Stamford Street. That was a night's wise labor. But the labor and thoughtful care had come too late, on top of all the previous folly. And he said to himself, "It's prob'ly all up with me. This quiet is the usual trick of the p'lice to throw you off the scent. They're playin' wi' me.
The doctor needn't know who you are. 'It was a cab knocked me down, when I was running. I'm awful bad, Penny. You'll do something for me, won't you? 'Oh, why didn't you send mother for me? The door opened. It was Mrs. Candy who entered. She slammed the door, turned the key, and exclaimed in a low voice of alarm: 'Bob, there's the p'lice downstairs! They come just this minute.
As to the Cup, I've got it and I'm goin' to do ma best to keep it it's for yo' to win it from me if yo' can o' Thursday. As for what yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a lie. And as for what yo're drivin' at wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've no more idee than a babe unborn. Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not safe abroad. I'm thinkin' I'll ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice."
We made a triumphant departure from Carlow, preceded down to the station by the band of the N.V. We were told off to prevent anybody entering the station, but all the men entered magnificently, saying they were volunteers, and the women and children rushed us with the victorious cry, "We've downed the p'lice."
And all the time there's a feller, a mean, low, skunk of a feller with a good-looker face, and the manners and talk of a swell white man, hanging around on that home doorstep. So it goes on. How long I don't know. Then comes a time when this p'lice officer gets out on a mission to Unaga. And it's the other feller that has to hand him his orders. Do you see?
"Ah, it's not bad in the summer," said Tony, more earnestly than before: "and I could find for the little 'un easy enough. I sleep anywhere, in Covent Garden sometimes, and the parks anywhere as the p'lice 'ill let me alone. You won't go to give her up to them p'lice, will you now, and she so pretty?"
Here it is: "Ohe, Titi, oheee! Here comes the bobby, here comes the p'lice, pick up your duds and be off, through the sewer with you!" Sometimes this gnat that is what he calls himself knows how to read; sometimes he knows how to write; he always knows how to daub.
"Sure," said Stormy, with a contemptuous shrug, "and I guess you, with the rest, will do some of the listenin'. You're all wise guys hereabouts mostly as wise as the p'lice. Best hand the company a round of drinks. I've got money to burn." He laughed, but no amount of questioning could elicit anything more of interest to the curious minds about him.
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