ot express himself
at all; in fact, almost ignored Barber's existence. But Father Pat! Not
even old Grandpa could be in doubt as to how the priest felt toward the
longshoreman.

"Oh, don't you worry about this kid," advised Big Tom. "I git mighty
little out o' _him_."

Father Pat stared. Then, bluntly, "Shure, now, don't tell me that! Ye
know, I can see his big hands."

Johnnie's hands, at that moment, were hanging in front of him, the
fingers knotted. He glanced down at them. He had never thought of them
as being large, but now he realized that they were. What was worse, they
seemed to be getting bigger and bigger all of a sudden! The way they
were swelling made him part them and slip them behind his back.

"When I was a shaver, I didn't have no time t' be a dude!" asserted Big
Tom. "And this kid ain't no better'n me!"

"As a man," answered the Father, "shure, and I hope he'll be better
than the two o' us put t'gether! Because if the boys and girls don't
improve upon the older folks, how is this world t' git better, t'
advance?" As he spoke, his look went swiftly round the room.

Barber laughed. "Well, I can tell y' one thing about him," he said. "He
won't never make a longshoreman--the little runt!"

At that, Father Pat fairly shot to his feet, and taking a forward step,
hung over Big Tom, his green eyes black, his freckled face as crimson as
his hair. "Runt is it!" he cried. "Runt! And I'll ask ye why, Mr. Tom
Barber? Because ye've kept him shut up in this black place! Because
ye've cheated him out o' decent food, and fresh air, and the flirtin' up
o' his boy's heels! Does he find time t' play? Has he got friends? Not
if ye can help it! Oh, I can read all the little story o' him--the sad,
starved, pitiful, lonely, story o' him!"

Barber got up slowly, laying down his pipe. "I guess I know a few things
I've done for him," he answered angrily. "And I don't want abuse for
them, neither! He's got a lot t' be thankful for!"

"Thankful, yer Grandmother!" raged the Father, but somewhat
breathlessly. "I don't want t' hear yer excuses, nor what ye've done! I
can see through ye just as if ye was a pane o' glass! It's the carin'
for the old man without a penny o' cost that ye've thought about! It's
the makin' o' a few flowers for a few cents!"--he pointed to the
table--"when the lad ought t' be at his books! Greed's at the bottom o'
what ye do--not only workin' the lad too hard for his strength, but
cheatin' him out