“I wonder,” said Larry, his eyes dwelling soberly upon the Jewish face of the Virgin, “how the old one is?”
“I saw Rosie O’Hara stan’in’ in the door last night,” returned Jimmie, “an’ she said that he was as good as gone.”
“I’m sorry,” said Larry. Then catching the look which Larkin threw him, he added: “He never done nothin’ to me, sure; but when I was a kid an’ me father was a-livin’, he told me never to knock.”
The plaster ceiling was seamed with cracks, discolored by the soaking through of rain. Larkin, lying on his back, thoughtfully followed the longest of these with his eye; and when he had reached its termination, he said:
“If youse was in with yer gran’dad just now, Larry, ye’d come in for some o’ the gilt.”
Murphy turned about with a jerk that threatened to end the cot’s unity.
“I don’t want his coin; I wouldn’t make a play for it if I was flat on me uppers! I said that I was sorry for the old man, not that I would scoop his money after he was planted!”
“Keep yer shirt on,” said Larkin; “I was on’y sayin’, ye know.”
Mrs. McGonagle’s son, Goose, was seated upon an empty cracker box in front of Clancy’s grocery; his wagon was drawn up at the curb, and a small Italian was shining his russet leather shoes. His mother came up, panting and wheezing from her haste.
“Run intill the house!” she exclaimed breathlessly.