“An’ who may youse be?” he began, hunching himself forward and shooting forth his pugnacious jaw.
Mr. Henderson stepped a bit closer and turned back the lapel of his vest.
The sudden change in the man’s attitude and expression caused the boys to burst out laughing. Surprise, incredulity, fear, and regret all spread over his big Hibernian features in turn. His half-raised arm dropped to his side, he seemed to shrivel and shrink in size, his pale blue eyes seemed about to pop from between his red-lashed lids.
Then Irish humor came to his rescue. Drawing himself stiffly up he saluted and with a twinkle in his eyes blurted out,
“B’gorra, Sir, ’tis sorry I am. But how was I
to know, Sir? What with your kelly dinted in and your tie adrift and all. Sure I’ll see ye through here in a jiffy.”
The crowd had now been driven far back, and, escorted by the mounted men, the two cars proceeded slowly up the street until opposite the garage. A few idlers were still hovering about and were being chased away by blue coats, but inside the garage the boys could see a closely packed mass of men with policemen’s caps much in evidence, while the broad doorway was blocked by officers with drawn clubs.
As Mr. Pauling brought his car to a stop, a plain-clothes man pressed through the line of police and hurried to the car.
“What’s up?” demanded Mr. Pauling as the man came close. “Find anything?”
“Find anything!” repeated the other, his gimlet eyes fairly glistening with satisfaction. “You bet your—beg your pardon—I’ll say we did. Got the whole bunch—men, cars, booze an’ all. Want the story now?”