"I know," said Johnnie. "I remember. I—I was there 'way late last night—in a think."
"Why, little reader dear, in that temple, and out o' it, shure and there's enough Aladdins t' pave half a mile o' Fifth Avenue! and it's likely ye could put up a Woolworth Building with nothin' but Crusoes and Mohicans!"
"I'm so glad! So glad! My!"
"And Father Pat's glad," added the priest. As he stood once more, he lifted a smiling face to the ceiling; and up past the kitchen of the little Jewish lady he sent a prayer of gratitude to his Maker for the blessing of that instrument of man's genius, the printing press.
Then he fell to pacing the floor, now glancing at the clock, again taking out his watch and clicking its cover. Between these silent inquiries regarding the time, he played impatiently with the cross which hung against his coat on a black ribbon. It was plain that he was expecting some one.
Big Tom understood as much, and finally was moved to speech. "Y' won't bring no doctor in here," he announced. "I won't have no foolishness o' that kind."
Father Pat ignored him. But to Mrs. Kukor, "Shure, and ye could boil a leg o' mutton while ye wait for that gentleman," he observed.
After that, for a while, the kitchen was quiet. Mrs. Kukor left on an errand to her own flat, coming back almost at once with two eggs deliciously scrambled on toast, and some stewed berries, tart and tasty. These delicacies had a wonderfully reviving effect upon both Cis and Johnnie, and the latter even found himself able to sit up to eat.
"Now I'm so weak," he told Father Pat, "wouldn't this be a' awful fine time t' play shipwreck with Crusoe, and git washed on shore more dead'n alive?"
"Now, then, it just would!" agreed the priest. "But as ye've been near dead once this day, shure, ye'd best think o' stayin' alive for a change."