Big Kennedy made a gesture of impatience, mixed with despair.
“Here!” said he at last, “I'll give you a flash of what I'm out to do an' why I'm out to do it. I'm goin' to put Sheeny Joe away to stiffen discipline. He's sold himself, an' th' whole ward knows it. Now I'm goin' to show'em what happens to a turncoat, as a hunch to keep their coats on right side out, d'ye see.”
“But you spoke of a robbery!” I interjected; “Sheeny Joe has robbed no one.”
“I'm gettin' to that,” returned Big Kennedy, with a repressive wave of his broad palm, “an' I can see that you yourself have a lot to learn. Listen: If I knew of any robbery Sheeny Joe had pulled off, I wouldn't have him lagged for that; no, not if he'd taken a jimmy an' cracked a dozen bins. There'd be no lesson in sendin' a duck over th' road in that. Any old woman could have him pinched for a crime he's really pulled off. To leave an impression on these people, you must send a party up for what he hasn't done. Then they understand.”
For all Big Kennedy's explanation, I still lived in the dark. I made no return, however, either of comment or question; I considered that I had only to look on, and Big Kennedy's purpose would elucidate itself. Big Kennedy and I were in the sanctum that opened off his barroom. He called one of his barmen.
“Billy, you know where to find the Rat?” Then, when the other nodded: “Go an' tell the Rat I want him.”
“Who is the Rat?” I queried. I had never heard of the Rat.
“He's a pickpocket,” responded Big Kennedy, “an' as fly a dip as ever nipped a watch or copped a leather.”
The Rat belonged on the west side of the town, which accounted for my having failed of his acquaintance. Big Kennedy was sure his man would find him.
“For he grafts nights,” said Big Kennedy, “an' at this time of day it's a cinch he's takin' a snooze. A pickpocket has to have plenty of sleep to keep his hooks from shakin'.”