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.