The Definite Object. Jeffery Farnol

Spike, reappearing with a cup and saucer, "still piping off Hermy's photo, Geoff?"

      "I'm wondering why she looks so sad?"

      "Sad?" repeated Spike, setting down the crockery with a rattle, "Hermy ain't sad; she always looks like that. Y' see, she ain't much on the giggle, Geoff, but she's most always singing, 'cept when her kids is sick or Mulligan calls—"

      "What do you mean?"

      "Oh, Hermy mothers all the kids around here when they're sick, an' lots o' kids is always getting sick. And when Mulligan comes it's rent day, an' sometimes Hermy's a bit shy on the money—"

      "Is she?" said Mr. Ravenslee, frowning.

      "You bet she is, Geoff! An' Mulligan's an Irishman an' mean—say, he's the meanest mutt you ever see. A Jew's mean, so's a Chink, but a mean Harp's got 'em both skinned 'way to 'Frisco an' back again! Why, Mulligan's that mean he wouldn't cough up a nickel to see the Statue o' Liberty do a Salomy dance in d' bay. So when the mazuma's shy Hermy worries some—"

      "Don't you help her?" demanded Mr. Ravenslee.

      "Help her—why, y' see, Geoff, I—I ain't in a steady job yet. But I do my best an'—why, there's d' kettle boilin' at last!" saying which, Spike turned and vanished again, leaving Mr. Ravenslee still staring down at the pictured face. Presently he sank back in his chair, and, lolling thus, looked sleepily at the opposite wall but saw it not, nor heard the clatter of cups and saucers from the kitchen accompanied by Spike's windy whistling; and, as he lounged thus, he spoke softly, and to himself.

      "An object!" he murmured.

      "Hey, Geoff," Spike called, "this ain't goin' to be no à la carte, hock an' claret feedin' match, nor yet no table-de-hoty eat-fest, but if you can do in some bacon an' eggs, you're on!"

      "Why, then," said Mr. Ravenslee, rising and yawning, "count me decidedly 'on.'"

      "Then d' you mind givin' me a hand wid d' coffee?"

      "Delighted!" and forthwith Mr. Ravenslee stepped out into the kitchen; and there, in a while, upon a rickety table covered with a greasy newspaper, they ate and drank with great relish and gusto, insomuch that Mr. Ravenslee marvelled at his own appetite.

      "Say, Geoff," enquired Spike as hunger waned, "how long are you stoppin' at Mulligan's—a week?"

      "A week—a month—six months," replied his guest sleepily. "It's all according—"

      "Accordin' to what?"

      "Well—er—circumstances."

      "What circumstances?"

      "Circumstances over which I have no control—yet!"

      "You don't mean me?" queried Spike, with an anxious expression.

      "Lord, no!"

      "And you'll never tell nobody that I—that I—"

      "Meant to be—a thief?" drawled Mr. Ravenslee. "Not a word!"

      Spike flushed, took a gulp of coffee, choked, and fell to sulky silence, while Mr. Ravenslee filled his pipe and yawned.

      "Say," demanded Spike at last, "where'll you live while you're here?"

      "Oh—somewhere, I suppose; I haven't bothered about where yet."

      "Well, I been thinkin' I know where I can fix you up—perhaps!"

      "Very kind of you, Spike!"

      "There's Mrs. Trapes 'cross d'landing; she lost her lodger last week—mean guy skinned off without paying d' rent—she might take you."

      "Across the landing? She'll do!" nodded Mr. Ravenslee.

      "But I'm wonderin' if you'll do; she's a holy terror when she likes, Geoff."

      "Across the landing? I'll put up with her!" murmured Mr. Ravenslee.

      "But, say, you don't know Mrs. Trapes."

      "Not yet, Spike."

      "Well, she ain't no easy mark, Geoff! Most everybody in Mulligan's is scared of her when she cuts loose; she can talk ye deaf, dumb an' paralysed, she can so. She sure is aces up on d' chin-music, Geoff!"

      "But then she lives just opposite, and that circumstance, methinks, doth cover a multitude of—" Mr. Ravenslee yawned again.

      "Anyway, it's a sure thing she won't take you if she don't like ye, Geoff."

      "Why, then, she must like me!" said Mr. Ravenslee and proceeded to light his pipe; whereupon Spike produced a box of cigarettes, but, in the act of lighting one, paused, and sighing, put it away again.

      "I promised d' Spider I wouldn't, Geoff," he explained. "Y' see, I'm sort of in trainin', and Spider says smoke's bad for d' wind, and d' Spider knows."

      "Spider?" said Mr. Ravenslee, glancing up, "do you mean Spider Connolly the lightweight?"

      "That's d' guy!" nodded Spike.

      "Is he a friend of yours?"

      "Sure! Him an' Bud M'Ginnis is goin' to get me some good matches soon."

      "Boxing matches?"

      "That's what they call 'em, Geoff—but there ain't much boxin' to it; real boxin' don't go down wid d' sports, it's d' punch they wanter see—good, stiff wallops as jars a guy an' makes his knees get wobbly—swings and jolts as makes a guy blind an' deaf an' sick. Oh, I been like that, an' I know—an' it ain't all candy t' hear everybody yellin' to the other guy to go in an' finish ye!"

      "Does your sister know you fight?"

      "Not much, she don't! I guess she'd like me to be a mommer's pet in lace collars an' a velvet suit, an' soft an' pretty in me talk. She's made me promise t' cut out d' tough-spiel, an' so I'm tryin' to—"

      "Are you really, Spike?"

      "Well—when she's around I do, Geoff!"

      "And she doesn't like you to fight, eh?"

      "Nope! But y' see—she's only a girl, Geoff!"

      "And that's the wonder of it!" nodded Mr. Ravenslee.

      "Wonder? What d' ye mean?"

      "I mean that all these years she has managed to feed you, and clothe you, and keep a comfortable home for you, and she's—only a girl!"

      "Well, and ain't I tryin' to make good?" cried the boy eagerly.

      "Are you really, Spike?"

      "Sure! There's lots o' money in d' fightin' game, an' I'm fightin' all for Hermy. If ever I get a champ, I'll have money to burn, an' then she'll never be shy on d' dollar question no more, you bet! There'll be no more needlework or Mulligan's for Hermy; it'll be a farm in d' country wid roses climbin' around, an' chickens, an'—an' automobiles, an' servants to come when she pushes d' button—you bet!"

      "Is she so fond of the country?"

      "Well, I guess yes! An' flowers—Gee, she nearly eats 'em!"

      "On the other hand," said Mr. Ravenslee, watching the smoke from his pipe with a dreamy eye, "on the other hand I gather she does not like—Mr. M'Ginnis! I wonder why?"

      "You can search me!" answered Spike, shaking his head, "but it's a sure thing she ain't got no use for Bud."

      "And yet—you go around with him, Spike."

      "But don't I tell ye he's been good t' me! He's goin' t' match me with some top-liners; he says if I can stick it I'll be a champion sure."

      "Yes," nodded Mr. Ravenslee, "but when?"

      "Oh, Bud's got it all doped out. But say—"

      "And in the meantime your sister will go on feeding you and clothing you and—"

      "Cheese it, Geoff," cried the boy, flushing.