“‘Why,’ says he, ‘I don’t want to git away!’ he says, his voice growin’ sorrowful.
“‘That ain’t got annything to do with it, sor, askin’ your pardon,’ I says; ‘it’s me conscience, and they ain’t anny use arguin’ with a man’s 410 conscience whin its dander is up. I’ve got to let ye go, sor,’ I says, ‘and ye can do it now. I’ll turn me back.’
“‘No, no,’ says he, ‘I know what ye’re thinkin’, but——’
“‘Yis, I know ye do, sor,’ I says, thim queer mind-readin’ ways of his comin’ over me ag’in, ‘but for God’s sake don’t tell me!’ I says. ‘Don’t tell me, sor. I’ll believe ye without that, sor, and I know what it was already mesilf annyways, and I wasn’t thinkin’ annything, besides, and not meanin’ a word of it,’ I goes on, beyond mesilf entirely, all the queer ways of him risin’ up before me, and the mosquities not bitin’ him, me nerves givin’ out at last from all they’d been through.
“Just thin he turned thim fish-eyes of his on to me, niver sayin’ a word, and put out wan hand, soft-like, to lay it on me, and I give wan jump and was off down the street, runnin’ as I niver run afore. And him after me and gainin’, the divil snatch him, if he ain’t the divil himsilf.
“What people they was on the street—praise be, they was but few at that hour—comminced chasin’ me, too, but ’twas but wan long block to Devinsky’s, here, and I come in that side door like I was a autymobile, near drownin’ Peter Casey in the beer he was carryin’. By good luck Micky Doyle and Big McCarthy was drinkin’ at the bar, and I yells at thim: ‘Stop thim, for the love of hiven! They’re tryin’ to kidnap me!’ and I wint out the front door like they was a thousand divils clutchin’ at me.
“And the boys did it, may the blessin’ of hiven shine on thim, but wan of thim fools what was helpin’ chase me give that little spalpeen me name, and this day has been a curse to me from worryin’ over what may happen me yit, though it’s proud I should be over frustratin’ the nefarious plans of him.”
Tim merely grunted. A tough-looking waiter entered through the swinging door, approached the table where the two were sitting, and tossed a dainty envelope in front of Patsy, with the announcement that a messenger had brought it. It was addressed to “Patsy Moran, Esq., Care of Devinsky’s Place.” Patsy opened it with nervous fingers, and a newspaper clipping fell out upon the table, displaying the unprepossessing features of a young man over the words: “Courtney Schwartz, son of multi-Millionaire Chas. B. Schwartz, of Pittsburg.”
A gasp from Patsy, another grunt from Tim, and the two of them seized the letter with a common impulse, Tim’s stolidity shaken for once. There was dead silence while the two pairs of eyes followed the straggling words of what was written there:
“My dear Mr. Moran:
“The enclosed clipping will convince you that I gave you my real name, and that my father is abundantly able to pay ransoms. All I told you about that bet may also be true, but as I took that story back, I really can’t say now whether it is or not. It doesn’t sound so, does it?
“It may be, on the other hand, that I merely figured out in the beginning that you were the kind I could get so rattled you would let me go before I got through with you. If that is true, it worked, didn’t it? But maybe it isn’t true.
“If neither one of these things is true, what is?
“In any case, you lost $8,000 of the easiest money that ever happened. Why not have tied me up somewhere till you got a boat, or, after getting me as far as you did, why not have taken me the rest of the way?
“But I bear you no grudge. I am sure no one but you could make being kidnapped so amusing. It was great. I am exceedingly sorry, however, that I lost your suspenders. Please accept, in their place, the eleven dollars you have already taken from me. Would enclose more, but feel that the experience alone was worth a fortune to you. You needed the practice. You were right, though, in refusing to set my ransom at $10,000, for in that case you would now be out $2,000 more of easy money.
“Life would be far easier, wouldn’t it, if we could judge a book by its covers?
“Very truly yours,
“Courtney Delevan Schwartz.
“P.S.—It may interest you to know that before I came down from my roost in those ruins, I concealed my watch and $840 under some of the bricks you threw at me. I found them there this morning.
“C. D. S.”