instantly lowered his voice. The head ducked out of sight. In the flash
glance Babcock caught of the face, he recognized the boy Cully, Patsy's
friend, and the driver of the Big Gray. It was evident to Babcock that
Cully at that moment was bubbling over with fun. Indeed, this waif of
the streets, sometimes called James Finnegan, was seldom known to be
otherwise.

"Thet's the wurrst rat in the stables," said McGaw, his face reddening
with anger. "What kin ye do whin ye're a-buckin' ag'in' a lot uv divils
loike him?"--speaking through the window to Babcock. "Come out uv thet,"
he called to Cully, "or I'll bu'st yer jaw, ye sneakin' rat!"

Cully came out, but not in obedience to McGaw or Lathers. Indeed, he
paid no more attention to either of those distinguished diplomats than
if they had been two cement-barrels standing on end. His face, too, had
lost its irradiating smile; not a wrinkle or a pucker ruffled its calm
surface. His clay-soiled hat was in his hand--a very dirty hand, by
the way, with the torn cuff of his shirt hanging loosely over it.
His trousers bagged everywhere--at knees, seat, and waist. On his
stockingless feet were a pair of sun-baked, brick-colored shoes. His
ankles were as dark as mahogany. His throat and chest were bare, the
skin tanned to leather wherever the sun could work its way through the
holes in his garments. From out of this combination of dust and rags
shone a pair of piercing black eyes, snapping with fun.

"I come up fer de mont's pay," he said coolly to Babcock, the corner of
his eye glued to Lathers. "De ole woman said ye'd hev it ready."

"Mrs. Grogan's?" asked the bookkeeper, shuffling over his envelopes.

"Yep. Tom Grogan."

"Can you sign the pay-roll?"

"You bet"--with an eye still out for Lathers.

"Where did you learn to write--at school?" asked Babcock, noting the
boy's independence with undisguised pleasure.

"Naw. Patsy an' me studies nights. Pop Mullins teaches us--he's de ole
woman's farder what she brung out from Ireland. He's a-livin' up ter
de shebang; dey're all a-livin' dere--Jinnie an' de ole woman an'
Patsy--all 'cept me an' Carl. I bunks in wid de Big Gray. Say, mister,
ye'd oughter git onter Patsy--he's de little kid wid de crutch. He's a
corker, he is; reads po'try an' everythin'. Where'll I sign? Oh, I see;
in dis'ere square hole right along-side de ole woman's name"--spreading
his elbows, pen in hand, and affixing "James Finnegan" to the collection
of