l ten. In the meantime, I proceeded to build
myself a fire on the dock, for we were alongside the Harlem River and a
brisk wind was blowing. Then Rourke came, fresh from church, smiling and
genial, in the most cheerful Sunday-go-to-meeting frame of mind, but
plainly a little conscious of his grand garb.

"My," I said, surveying him, "you look fine. I never saw you dressed up
before."

"L'ave aaf with yer taalk," he replied. "I know well enough how I
look--good enough."

Then he bestirred himself about the task of examining what had been done
so far. But I could see, in spite of all the busy assurance with which
he worked, that he was still highly conscious of his clothes and a
little disturbed by what I or others might think. His every-day garb
plainly suited his mood much better.

Everything went smoothly until noon, not a cloud in the sky, when,
looking across the tracks at that hour, I beheld coming toward us with
more or less uncertain step another individual, stocky of figure and
evidently bent on seeing Rourke--an Irishman as large as Rourke,
younger, and, if anything, considerably coarser in fiber. He was very
red-faced, smooth shaven, with a black derby hat pulled down over his
eyes and wearing a somewhat faded tight-fitting brown suit. He was
drunk, or nearly so, that was plain from the first. From the moment
Rourke beheld him he seemed beside himself with anger or irritation. His
expression changed completely and he began to swell, as was customary
with him when he was angry, as though suffering from an internal
eruption of some kind.

"The bla'guard!" I heard him mutter. "Now, be gob, what'll that felly
be waantin'?" and then as the stranger drew nearer, "Who was it tould
him I was here? Maybe some waan at the ahffice."

Regardless of his speculations on this score, the stranger picked his
way across the tracks and came directly to him, his face and manner
indicating no particularly friendly frame of mind.

"Maybe ye'll be lettin' me have that money now," he began instanter, and
when Rourke made no reply, merely staring at him, he added, "I'll be
waantin' to know now, when it is ye're goin' to give me the rest av me
time fer that Scarborough job. I've been waitin' long enough."

Rourke stirred irritably and aggressively before he spoke. He seemed
greatly put out, shamed, to think that the man should come here so,
especially on this peaceful Sabbath morning.

"I've tould ye before," he replied defia