sentative of the law
paused--as if waiting for the priest to come up. In reality, standing
sidewise, one ear close to a panel, he listened to what was going on
inside. As Johnnie, with the bouquet waving against his breast, came to
a halt at the official heels, he heard it all, too--a roar of threats
and curses, loud stamping to and fro across a squeaking floor, while
like a sad accompaniment to a harsh tune there sounded a low, frightened
weeping.

Johnnie peered up into the policeman's face. Dark as was the hall, he
could see that Mr. Clancy's visage was stern. Father Pat was beside them
now, steadying himself by a hand on the rickety banister, while he laid
the other upon his breast as if to ease his panting. His look was
horrified.

The youngest of that trio rejoiced that Big Tom was acting so badly just
at this time. It meant that the "rakin'" would surely happen; and after
Father Pat had done his part, Johnnie hoped that the policeman would
arrest the longshoreman, drag him away to prison, and perhaps even whack
him a time or two with his polished stick.

These possibilities were comforting.

CHAPTER XXV

AN ALLY CROSSES A SWORD

OFFICER CLANCY did not wait even to knock once upon the Barber door, but
pushed it open sharply--discovering Big Tom and Cis, face to face on the
far side of the kitchen table, the latter with wet cheeks, while her
shrinking, wilted young figure was swayed backward out of reach of the
huge finger which the longshoreman was shaking before her eyes. Beside
her, crouched down in his chair, was old Grandpa, peering out between
the folds of his blanket like a frightened kitten.

The interruption halted Big Tom halfway of a stormy sentence, and he
turned upon the entering officer a countenance dark and working. (As
Father Pat said afterward, "Shure, and 'twas as black as anny colored
babe's in Cherry Street!") However, that newly shaved visage lightened
instantly, paling at sight of the police-blue and the shield.

The officer spoke first. "This kid belong here?" he asked.

"Lives here," admitted Barber, swallowing.

"I take it ye're not a florist," went on Clancy.

"I ain't."

"Ah! In that case,"--firmly--"ye'll not be sendin' anny boy out on to
the street t' sell roses: leastways, not without the proper license,
which ye can ask for up at City Hall." Next, the patrolman gave Johnnie
a friendly shove toward the middle of the room. "Hand the posies t' yer
sister, young m