"I seen him," said the youngest brigand, whose lower lip was quivering. "I seen him. He had eyes like fire. I want—my maw! I'm scared!" The youngest brigand dissolved into tears. They ran down his cheeks and through his Kaiser Wilhelm of burnt cork, leaving a grey trail on his small chin. "I want my maw!" he repeated.
"An' las' night I seen a man down the alley. He sez 'Hello Bub.' That fierce I ran home, I tell yuh!" said another of the group.
"Bet it was Jack, the Hugger," came in an ominous tone from the background. The brigands quaked. Their eyes had grown large with excitement, and fear was plain above the moustaches. One small boy who wore a horse-hair imperial, muttered of "gettin' home to study his gogerfy." He, and all the rest, cast longing eyes toward the door. The youngest mopped the tears and smeared his moustache across his face with his coat sleeve.
The fat priest got up and laid aside his pipe with reluctance. "Come on," he said; "we'll go find the villain. Come on!"
Two small boys clung to his cassock,—the rest pretended a bravado. They swaggered largely through the kitchen, where Mrs. Fry, washing the rectory dishes, glared at their intrusion. Outside the soft dark covered the fears of the brigands. Father McGowan went toward the arbour. He looked well on the frail structure, and then shook it. A black cat hissed, and jumped down.
"I wasn't scared none!" said the brigand who had wanted his maw, "I was just pretending!" The rest of the brigands giggled foolishly and muttered of "Foolin'."
Father McGowan tactfully spoke of the weather, and then he suggested going down to the corner drug store, where pink sodas could be bought for five cents. There was a flattering acceptance of his offer. They started off, all talking loudly to him of their large achievements. He listened and answered just at the right time, and said just the right thing. So they faded into the night, the long, black shadow with the smaller ones about it, clinging to it.
"He's takin' 'em to the drug store, I bet," said a lanky boy who was smoking in the shadows. His voice was sad.
"He must say lots of Masses," said his companion. "Every time them kids bawl around his place they get something to eat."
"Um hum," agreed the first speaker, "but he ain't no soft guy. Sometimes he licks 'em fit to kill."