“But that doesn’t explain your fines.”
“Av course it does. Shure, if the boys don’t come to my place, it’s little Oi can do at the primary, an’ so it’s no pull Oi have in politics, to get the perlice an’ the joodges to be easy wid me, like they are to the rest.”
Peter studied his blank wall a bit.
“Shure, if it’s good beer Oi had,” continued Moriarty, “Oi’d be afther beatin’ them all, for Oi was always popular wid the b’ys, on account of my usin’ my fists so fine.”
Peter smiled. “Why don’t you go into something else?” he asked.
“Well, there’s mother and the three childers to be supported, an’ then Oi’d lose my influence at the primary.”
“What kind of beer does Mr. Bohlmann make?” asked Peter, somewhat irrelevantly.
“Ah,” said Moriarty, “that’s the fine honest beer! There’s never anythin’ wrong wid his. An’ he treats his keepers fair. Lets them do as they want about keepin’ open Sundays, an’ never squeezes a man when he’s down on his luck.”
Peter looked at his wall again. Peter was learning something.
“Supposing,” he asked, “I was able to get your fine remitted, and that clause struck out of the lease. Would you open on Sunday?”