mmins
foreman on the street, and to give him a share in the profits, if he
would help him in some way to get the work now. The first step, he
argued, was the necessity of crushing Tom. Everything else would be easy
after that. Such a task, he felt, would not be altogether uncongenial to
Crimmins, still smarting under Tom's contemptuous treatment of him the
day he called upon her in his capacity of walking delegate.

McGaw's tempting promise made a deep impression upon Crimmins. He
determined then and there to inflict some blow on Tom Grogan from
which she could never recover. He was equally determined on one other
thing--not to be caught.

Early the next morning Crimmins stationed himself outside O'Leary's
where he could get an uninterrupted view of two streets. He stood
hunched up against the jamb of O'Leary's door in the attitude of a
corner loafer, with three parts of his body touching the wood--hip,
shoulder, and cheek. For some time no one appeared in sight either
useful or inimical to his plans, until Mr. James Finnegan, who was
filling the morning air with one of his characteristic songs, brightened
the horizon up the street to his left.

Cully's unexpected appearance at that moment produced so uncomfortable
an effect upon Mr. Crimmins that that gentleman fell instantly back
through the barroom door.

The boy's quick eye caught the movement, and it also caught a moment
later, Mr. Crimmins's nose and watery eye peering out again when
their owner had assured himself that his escape had been unseen. Cully
slackened his pace to see what new move Crimmins would make--but without
the slightest sign of recognition on his face--and again broke into
song. He was on his way to get the mail, and had passed McGaw's house
but a few moments before, in the hope that that worthy Knight might be
either leaning over the fence or seated on the broken-down porch. He was
anxious McGaw should hear a few improvised stanzas of a new ballad he
had composed to that delightful old negro melody, "Massa's in de
cold, cold ground," in which the much-beloved Southern planter and the
thoroughly hated McGaw changed places in the cemetery.

That valiant Knight was still in bed, exhausted by the labors of the
previous evening. Young Billy, however, was about the stables, and so
Mr. James Finnegan took occasion to tarry long enough in the road for
the eldest son of his enemy to get the stanza by heart, in the hope that
he might retail it to h