While we were waiting the coming of the Rat, one of the barmen entered to announce a caller. He whispered a word in Big Kennedy's ear.
“Sure!” said he. “Tell him to come along.”
The gentleman whom the barman had announced, and who was a young clergyman, came into the room. Big Kennedy gave him a hearty handshake, while his red face radiated a welcome.
“What is it, Mr. Bronson?” asked Big Kennedy pleasantly; “what can I do for you?”
The young clergyman's purpose was to ask assistance for a mission which he proposed to start near the Five Points.
“Certainly,” said Big Kennedy, “an' not a moment to wait!” With that he gave the young clergyman one hundred dollars.
When that gentleman, after expressing his thanks, had departed, Big Kennedy sighed.
“I've got no great use for a church,” he said. “I never bought a gold brick yet that wasn't wrapped in a tract. But it's no fun to get a preacher down on you. One of'em can throw stones enough to smash every window in Tammany Hall. Your only show with the preachers is to flatter 'em;—pass'em out the flowers. Most of 'em's as pleased with flattery as a girl. Yes indeed,” he concluded, “I can paste bills on 'em so long as I do it with soft soap.”
The Rat was a slight, quiet individual and looked the young physician rather than the pickpocket. His hands were delicate, and he wore gloves the better to keep them in condition. His step and air were as quiet as those of a cat.
“I want a favor,” said Big Kennedy, addressing the Rat, “an' I've got to go to one of the swell mob to get it. That's why I sent for you, d'ye see! It takes someone finer than a bricklayer to do th' work.”