Kitty squared herself, her hands on her hips--a favorite gesture when her mind was fully made up--looked straight at the speaker as if to reply, then suddenly catching sight of a strapping-looking fellow in blue overalls, a trunk on one shoulder, a carpetbag in his hand, called out: “John, dear, come here! I want ye. Here, Mike! You and Bobby get that steamer baggage out on the sidewalk, and don't be slack about it, for it goes to Hoboken, and there may be a block in the river and the ferry-boats behind time. Wait, I'll lend ye a hand.” “You'll lend nothing, Kitty Cleary! Get out of my way,” came her husband's hearty answer. “Ye hurt yer back last week. There's men enough round here to--stop it, I tell ye!” and he loosened her fingers from the lifting-strap. “I can hist the two of ye, John! Go along wid ye!” “No, Kitty, darlin'--let go of it,” and with a twist of his hand and lurch of his shoulder John shot the trunk over the edge of the wagon, tossed the bag after it, and joined the group, the stranger absorbed in watching the husband and wife. “And now the trunk's in, what's it you want, Kitty?” asked John squeezing her plump arm, as if in compensation for having had his way. “John, dear, here's a gentleman who--what's your name?--ye haven't told me, or if ye did I've forgot it.” “Felix O'Day.” “Then you're Irish?” “I am afraid I am--at least, my ancestors were.” “Afraid! Ye ought to be glad. I'm Irish, and so is my John here, and Bobby, and Father Cruse, and Tom McGinniss, the policeman, and the captain up at the station-house--we're all Irish, except Otto, who is as Dutch as sauerkraut! But where was I? Oh, yes! Now, John, dear, this gentleman is on his uppers, he says, and wants to hire our room and eat what we can give him.” The expressman, who stood six feet in his stockings, looked first at his wife, then at Kling, and then at the applicant, and broke out into a loud guffaw. “It's a joke, Kitty. Don't let 'em fool ye. Go on, Otto; try it somewhere else! It's my busy day. Here, Mike!” “You drop Mike and listen, John! It's no joke--not for Mr. O'Day. You take him up-stairs and show him what we got, and down into the kitchen and the sitting-room and out into the yard. Come, now; hurry! Go 'long with him, Mr. O'Day, and come back to me when ye are through and tell me what you think of it all. And, John, take Toodles with you and lock him up. First thing I know I'll be tramplin' on him. Get out, you varmint!”