"Let's go over and say 'Howdy,'" George suggested.
There were some ten of them, girls and young fellows about George's own age. George took off his hat to them all and, with a flourish, presented Rosie.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you my lady friend, Miss Rosie O'Brien. Rosie, won't you shake hands with my friend, Mr. Callahan, and Miss Higgins, and Miss McCarthy, and Miss Mahony, ..."
Rosie, feeling eighteen years old and perfectly beautiful, went the rounds to an enchanting chorus of, "Pleased to know you, Miss O'Brien," "You sweet little thing!" "Excuse me, Miss Rosie, but I must say George Riley knows how to pick out a pretty girl!..."
George then presented Janet, and Janet, too, went the rounds, looking like a sleep-walker with tight-set muscles and staring eyes.
"And this," concluded George, giving Tom Sullivan a little push, "is Matt Sullivan's boy. You fellows all know Matt—he's on the East End run."
With blinking eyes and a crimson embarrassment that mounted to ears and scalp, Tom passed about a nerveless, sodden hand.
After a few more pleasantries, George, gathering together his forces, flourished his hat and said: "Well, so long, friends! See you later."
"Weren't they nice!" Rosie remarked enthusiastically, and Janet, in humble gratitude, said: "That was awful kind of you, Mr. Riley, introducing Tom and me."
"Kind nuthin'!" George declared. "Aren't you my friends, I'd like to know? Aren't all Rosie's friends my friends?"