Big Mike's a friend of mine. I ain't more than deuce-high in
the district as far as influence goes, but Mike's as good a friend to a
little man, or a poor man, as he is to a big one. I met him to-day on
the Bowery, and what do you think he does? Comes up and shakes hands.
'Andy,' says he, 'I've been keeping cases on you. You've been putting
in some good licks over on your side of the street, and I'm proud of
you. What'll you take to drink?' He takes a cigar, and I take a
highball. I told him I was going to get married in two weeks. 'Andy,'
says he, 'send me an invitation, so I'll keep in mind of it, and I'll
come to the wedding.' That's what Big Mike says to me; and he always
does what he says.

"You don't understand it, Maggie, but I'd have one of my hands cut off
to have Big Mike Sullivan at our wedding. It would be the proudest day
of my life. When he goes to a man's wedding there's a guy being
married that's made for life. Now, that's why I've maybe been looking
sore to-night."

"Why don't you invite him, then, if he's so much to the mustard?" said
Maggie lightly.

"There's a reason why I can't," said Andy sadly. "There's a reason why
he mustn't be there. Don't ask me what it is, for I can't tell you."

"Oh, I don't care," said Maggie. "It's something about politics, of
course. But it's no reason why you can't smile at me."

"Maggie," said Andy presently, "do you think as much of me as you did
of your--as you did of the Count Mazzini?"

He waited a long time, but Maggie did not reply. And then, suddenly
she leaned against his shoulder and began to cry--to cry and shake with
sobs, holding his arm tightly and wetting the _crepe de Chine_ with
tears.

"There, there, there!" soothed Andy, putting aside his own trouble.
"And what is it now?"

"Andy," sobbed Maggie, "I've lied to you and you'll never marry me, or
love me any more. But I feel that I've got to tell. Andy, there never
was so much as the little finger of a count. I never had a beau in my
life. But all the other girls had, and they talked about 'em, and that
seemed to make the fellows like 'em more. And, Andy, I look swell in
black--you know I do. So I went out to a photograph store and bought
that picture, and had a little one made for my locket, and made up all
that story about the Count and about his being killed, so I could wear
black. And nobody can love a liar and you'll shake me, Andy, and I'll
die for shame. Oh, ther