The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him. Paul Leicester Ford

XVIII.

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ANOTHER CLIENT.

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      Peter had seen his clients on the morning following the settlement of the cases, and told them of their good fortune. They each had a look at Bohlmann's check, and then were asked how they would like their shares.

      "Sure," said Dooley, "Oi shan't know what to do wid that much money."

      "I think," said Peter, "that your two thousand really belongs to the children."

      "That it does," said Mrs. Dooley, quite willing to deprive her husband of it, for the benefit of her children.

      "But what shall Oi do wid it?" asked Mr. Dooley.

      "I'd like Mr. Stirling to take charge of mine," said Blackett.

      "That's the idea," said Dooley.

      And so it was settled by all. Peter said the best thing would be to put it in the savings bank. "Perhaps later we'll find something better." They all went around to a well-known institution on the Bowery, and Peter interviewed the cashier. It proved feasible to endorse over the check to the bank, and credit the proper share to each.

      "I shall have to ask you to give me the odd two hundred and fifty," Peter said, "as that is my legal fee."

      "You had better let me put that in your name, Mr. Stirling?" said the president, who had been called into the consultation.

      "Very well," said Peter. "I shall want some of it before long, but the rest will be very well off here." So a book was handed him, and the president shook him by the hand with all the warmth that eight thousand two hundred and fifty dollars of increased assets and four new depositors implied.

      Peter did not need to draw any of the two hundred and fifty dollars, however. In November he had another knock at his door.

      It proved to be Mr. Dennis Moriarty, of whom we have incidentally spoken in connection with the half-price drinks for the Milligan wake, and as spokesman of the torchlight procession.

      "Good-mornin' to yez, sir," said the visitor.

      It was a peculiarity of Peter's that he never forgot faces. He did not know Mr. Moriarty's name, never having had it given him, but he placed him instantly.

      "Thank you," said Peter, holding out his hand. Peter did not usually shake hands in meeting people, but he liked the man's face. It would never take a prize for beauty. The hair verged on a fiery red, the nose was a real sky-scraper and the upper lip was almost proboscidian in its length. But every one liked the face.

      "It's proud Oi'm bein' shakin' the hand av Misther Stirling," said the Irishman.

      "Sit down," said Peter.

      "My name's Moriarty, sir, Dinnis Moriarty, an' Oi keeps a saloon near Centre Street, beyant."

      "You were round here in the procession."

      "Oi was, sir. Shure, Oi'm not much at a speech, compared to the likes av yez, but the b'ys would have me do it."

      Peter said something appropriate, and then there was a pause.

      "Misther Stirling," finally said Moriarty, "Oi was up before Justice Gallagher yesterday, an' he fined me bad. Oi want yez to go to him, an' get him to be easier wid me. It's yezself can do it."

      "What were you fined for?" asked Peter.

      "For bein' open on Sunday."

      "Then you ought to be fined."

      "Don't say that till Oi tell yez. Oi don't want to keep my place open, but it's in my lease, an' so Oi have to."

      "In your lease?" enquired Peter.

      "Yes." And the paper was handed over to him.

      Peter ran over the three documents. "I see," he said, "you are only the caretaker really, the brewer having an assignment of the lease and a chattel mortgage on your fixtures and stock."

      "That's it," said Dennis. "It's mighty quick yez got at it. It's caretaker Oi am, an' a divil of a care it is. Shure, who wants to work seven days a week, if he can do wid six?"

      "You should have declined to agree to that condition?"

      "Then Oi'd have been turned out. Begobs, it's such poor beer that it's little enough Oi sell even in seven days."

      "Why don't you get your beer elsewhere then?"

      "Why, it's Edelhein put me in there to sell his stuff, an' he'd never let me sell anythin' else."

      "Then Edelhein is really the principal, and you are only put in to keep him out of sight?"

      "That's it"

      "And you have put no money in yourself?"

      "Divil a cent."

      "Then why doesn't he pay the fine?"

      "He says Oi have no business to be afther bein' fined. As if any one sellin' his beer could help bein' fined!"

      "How is that?" said Peter, inferring that selling poor beer was a finable offence, yet ignorant of the statute.

      "Why yez see, sir, the b'ys don't like that beer—an' sensible they are—so they go to other places, an' don't come to my place."

      "But that doesn't explain your fines."

      "Av course it does. Shure, if the boys don't come to my place, it's little Oi can do at the primary, an' so it's no pull Oi have in politics, to get the perlice an' the joodges to be easy wid me, like they are to the rest."

      Peter studied his blank wall a bit.

      "Shure, if it's good beer Oi had," continued Moriarty, "Oi'd be afther beatin' them all, for Oi was always popular wid the b'ys, on account of my usin' my fists so fine."

      Peter smiled. "Why don't you go into something else?" he asked.

      "Well, there's mother and the three childers to be supported, an' then Oi'd lose my influence at the primary."

      "What kind of beer does Mr. Bohlmann make?" asked Peter, somewhat irrelevantly.

      "Ah," said Moriarty, "that's the fine honest beer! There's never anythin' wrong wid his. An' he treats his keepers fair. Lets them do as they want about keepin' open Sundays, an' never squeezes a man when he's down on his luck."

      Peter looked at his wall again. Peter was learning something.

      "Supposing," he asked, "I was able to get your fine remitted, and that clause struck out of the lease. Would you open on Sunday?"

      "Divil a bit."

      "When must you pay the fine?"

      "Oi'm out on bail till to-morrow, sir."

      "Then leave these papers with me, and come in about this time."

      Peter studied his wall for a bit after his new client was gone. He did not like either saloon-keepers or law-breakers, but this case seemed to him to have—to have—extenuating circumstances. His cogitations finally resulted in his going to Justice Gallagher's court. He found the judge rather curt.

      "He's been up here three times in as many months, and I intend to make an example of him."

      "But why is only he arrested, when every saloon keeper in the neighborhood does the same thing?"

      "Now, sir," said the judge, "don't waste any more of my time. What's the next case?"

      A look we have mentioned once or twice came into Peter's face. He started to leave the court, but encountered at the door