“An' I'll gamble you know your way about the East Side,” said he confidently; “I'll answer for that.” Then getting up he started for the door, for no grass grew between decision and action with Big Kennedy. “Come with me,” he said.
We had made no mighty journey when we stopped before a grocery. It was a two-store front, and of a prosperous look, with a wealth of vegetables and fruits in crates, and baskets, and barrels, covering half the sidewalk. The proprietor was a rubicund German, who bustled forth at sight of my companion.
“How is Mr. Kennedy?” This with exuberance. “It makes me prout that you pay me a wisit.”
“Yes?” said the other dryly. Then, going directly to the point: “Here's a boy I've brought you, Nick. Let him drive one of your wagons. Give him six dollars a week.”
“But, Mr. Kennedy,” replied the grocer dubiously, looking me over with the tail of his eye, “I haf yet no wacancy. My wagons is all full.”
“I'm goin' to get him new duds,” said Big Kennedy, “if that's what you're thinkin' about.”
Still, the grocer, though not without some show of respectful alarm, insisted on a first position.
“If he was so well dressed even as you, Mr. Kennedy, yet I haf no wacancy,” said he.
“Then make one,” responded Big Kennedy coolly. “Dismiss one of the boys you have, d'ye see? At least two who work for you don't belong in my ward.” As the other continued doubtful Big Kennedy became sharp. “Come, come, come!” he cried in a manner peremptory rather than fierce; “I can't wait all day. Don't you feed your horses in the street? Don't you obstruct the sidewalks with your stuff? Don't you sell liquor in your rear room without a license? Don't you violate a dozen ordinances? Don't the police stand it an' pass you up? An' yet you hold me here fiddlin' and foolin' away time!”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Kennedy,” cried the grocer, who from the first had sought to stem the torrent of the other's eloquence, “I was only try in' to think up w'ich horse I will let him drive alreatty. That's honest! sure as my name is Nick Fogel!”