Our Square and the People in It

by Samuel Hopkins Adams

If one may credit the Murphy family, the Little Red Doctor gained his real foothold in Our Square through force, invasion, violence, and brutal assault. The Murphys occupy the ground floor of the corner house abutting on Our Alley, under the workroom of Dead-Men's-Shoes, who, through their unwitting instrumentality, became sponsor for the Little Red Doctor. Dead-Men's-Shoes comes by his name from his business, which is the purchase and resale of the apparel of the recently deceased, collected on wagon trips over a wide radius about New York. Thus it comes about that the feet of the mighty have been represented in Our Square, and more than one of us has worn the giant's robe as tailored on Fifth Avenue. The ol'-clo' man's real name is Dadmun Schütz, and he is a Yankee from Connecticut where there are many Dadmuns and more Schutzes, but how and why he came to Our Square is a story that I do not care to tell. The slight alteration in his name to fit his trade was so logical as to be inevitable. Dead-Men's-Shoes is tall and rugged and powerful and slow, and he always wears an extinct species of silk hat on his business rounds. In the day which introduced him to the Little Red Doctor, the Murphys had declared holiday and gone fishing and caught fish. Naturally they held alcoholic celebration in the evening. Passing the house, the Little Red Doctor heard the sounds of revelry; also another sound which checked his progress. He stuck his head in at the window, took a hasty survey, followed the head into the room and laid hands upon Timmy Murphy aetat ten. Astonished but in no way dismayed by the invasion, Paterfamilias Murphy immediately threw a whiskey bottle at the intruder and rushed to the rescue, followed by the partner of his bosom. It was no time for diplomacy or fine distinctions as to the rights of the non-combatant sex. The Little Red Doctor acted with promptitude and both hands, and the Murphys came to in the kitchen with the door barred against reëntry. Thereupon they raised such lamentable outcry that Dad-mun Schütz loped downstairs to the rescue. Seeing a stranger in the act of throttling the scion of the house of Murphy, the ol'-clo' man undertook to dissuade him by fixing a bony hand in his collar; but in so doing forgot the existence of what is technically termed, I understand, the pivot blow. Upon discovering its uses he lay down in the hallway to meditate upon it. The Little Red Doctor finished his job before Terry the Cop's substitute arrived to arrest him. He went peacefully. Dead-Men's-Shoes followed to the court, escorting Murphy senior, who was extensively bandaged. The bench was occupied and ornamented by Magistrate Wolfe Tone Hanrahan, the Irish Solon of Avenue B. Judge Hanrahan possesses a human stratum in his judicial temperament. His examination of the prisoner (suppressed from the stenographer's official notes) proceeded as follows:—

The Judge—What were you doing in Murphys' flat?

The Accused—I was there professionally.

The Judge—Professionally, say ye? (With a look at the ill-repaired Murphys.) Are ye a prize-fighter?

The Accused—I am a physician and surgeon.

The Judge—Mostly surgeon, I'm thinkin'. Ye seem to have removed three teeth from the patient an' partly ampytated an ear. Besides, he swears ye tried to murder the boy. Is such yer usual practice?

The Accused—The boy had a fish bone in his throat. He was strangling. Here is the bone. The boy is in bed. I ought to be with him now.

The Judge—Officer, ye're a fool. Murphy, y' oughta get ten days. Mrs. Murphy, back to yer child! Defendant, cud ye come to my house, No. 36, to-morra mornin'? My cook has a bile on her neck. I like yer style. Yere discharged.

Dead-Men's-Shoes escorted the physician back apologizing at every step, and thenceforth touted for him (greatly to his embarrassment) until Our Square grew afraid to call in any other practitioner lest the partisan ol'-clo' man should accuse us of attempted suicide by negligence. Within a year of his arrival the little Red Doctor had become, as it were, official healer to the whole place. And where he began as physician he ended as friend and ally.

The Little Red Doctor was intensely personal in his permanent engagement with his old friend, Death.