"He's been discharged," says Sadie. "Did you know him?"
Did I know Larry? Could anyone live in this burg as long as I have, without gettin' acquainted with that Old Country face, or learnin' by heart his "Ha-a-a-ar-lem thr-r-rain! Ha-a-a-ar-lem!"? There's other old timers that has the brogue, but never a one could touch Larry. A purple faced, grumpy old pirate, with a disposition as cheerful as a man waitin' his turn at the dentist's, and a heart as big as a ham, he couldn't speak a civil word if he tried; but he was always ready to hand over half his lunch to any whimperin' newsy that came along, and he's lent out more nickels that he'll ever see again.
But about the other Dillons, I got my first news from Sadie. There was four of 'em, besides Nora. One was Tom, who had a fine steady job, drivin' a coal cart for the Consolidated. A credit to the family, Tom was; havin' a wife and six kids of his own, besides votin' the straight Tammany ticket since he was nineteen. Next there was Maggie, whose man was on the stage,—shiftin' scenery. Then there was Kate, the lady sales person, who lived with the old folks. And last there was Aloysius, the stray; and wherever he was, Heaven help him! for he was no use whatever.
"I take it that 'Loyshy's the brunette Southdown of the Dillon flock," says I. "What particular brand of cussedness does he make a specialty of?"
Sadie says that Nora hadn't gone much into particulars, except that when last heard of he'd joined the Salvationists, which had left old Larry frothin' at the mouth. He'd threatened to break Aloysius into two pieces on sight, and he'd put the ban on speakin' his name around the house.
"Followin' the tambourine!" says I. "That's a queer stunt for a Dillon. The weeps was for him, then?"
They wa'n't. 'Loyshy's disappearin' act had been done two or three years back. The tears was all on account of the fortieth weddin' anniversary of the Dillons, fallin' as it did just a week after Larry had the spell of rheumatism which got him laid off for good. It's a nice little way the Inter-Met. people has of rewardin' the old vets. An inspector finds Larry, with his hand tied to the chopper handle, takes a look at his cramped up fingers, puts down his number, and next payday he gets the sack.
"So you've found another candidate for your private pension list, have you, Sadie?" says I.
But that's another wrong guess. The Dillons ain't takin' charity, not from anyone. It's the Dillon sisters to the rescue. They rustles around until they find Larry a job as night watch, in where it's warm. Then they all chips in for the new Tenth-ave. flat. Maggie brings her man and the two kids, the lady Kate sends around her trunks with the furniture, and Nora promises to give up half of her twenty to keep things going.
And then the Bradys, who lives opposite, has to spring their blow out. They'd been married forty years too; but just because one of their boys was in the Fire Department, and 'Lizzie Brady was workin' in a Sixth-ave. hair dressin' parlour, they'd no call to flash such a bluff,—frosted cake from the baker, with the date done in pink candy, candles burnin' on the mantelpiece, a whole case of St. Louis on the front fire escape, and the district boss drivin' around in one of Connely's funeral hacks. Who was the Bradys, that they should have weddin' celebrations when the Dillons had none?