d, briefly. "Somebody'll pitch your
hat down after you."

Maggie walked up to Dempsey Donovan. There was a brilliant spot of red
in her cheeks, down which slow tears were running. But she looked him
bravely in the eye.

"I knew it, Dempsey," she said, as her eyes grew dull even in their
tears. "I knew he was a Guinea. His name's Tony Spinelli. I hurried in
when they told me you and him was scrappin'. Them Guineas always carries
knives. But you don't understand, Dempsey. I never had a fellow in my
life. I got tired of comin' with Anna and Jimmy every night, so I fixed
it with him to call himself O'Sullivan, and brought him along. I knew
there'd be nothin' doin' for him if he came as a Dago. I guess I'll
resign from the club now."

Dempsey turned to Andy Geoghan.

"Chuck that cheese slicer out of the window," he said, "and tell 'em
inside that Mr. O'Sullivan has had a telephone message to go down to
Tammany Hall."

And then he turned back to Maggie.

"Say, Mag," he said, "I'll see you home. And how about next Saturday
night? Will you come to the hop with me if I call around for you?"

It was remarkable how quickly Maggie's eyes could change from dull to
a shining brown.

"With you, Dempsey?" she stammered. "Say--will a duck swim?"

MAN ABOUT TOWN

There were two or three things that I wanted to know. I do not care
about a mystery. So I began to inquire.

It took me two weeks to find out what women carry in dress suit cases.
And then I began to ask why a mattress is made in two pieces. This
serious query was at first received with suspicion because it sounded
like a conundrum. I was at last assured that its double form of
construction was designed to make lighter the burden of woman, who makes
up beds. I was so foolish as to persist, begging to know why, then, they
were not made in two equal pieces; whereupon I was shunned.

The third draught that I craved from the fount of knowledge was
enlightenment concerning the character known as A Man About Town. He was
more vague in my mind than a type should be. We must have a concrete
idea of anything, even if it be an imaginary idea, before we can
comprehend it. Now, I have a mental picture of John Doe that is as clear
as a steel engraving. His eyes are weak blue; he wears a brown vest
and a shiny black serge coat. He stands always in the sunshine chewing
something; and he keeps half-shutting his pocket knife and opening it
again with his thumb. And, if