“He’s doin’ ’em all; an’ right off the reel too,” said Murphy, who was a pupil of Jimmie’s in the manly art, and had watched his progress, through the newspapers, with interest. “He’s done stunts wit’ the best o’ them, since he left town, and they kin hardly put a glove on him. He knocked the Pohoket Cyclone dead to the world in the second minute o’ the fifth round last Monday night at New Orleans. Larkin’s a comer, le’me tell youse.” McGlory had pulled aside one of the window blinds and was gazing down into the street. “Say!” exclaimed he suddenly, “it’s a bundle o’ skirts what sent McGonagle up after Kelly.” He regarded the two figures standing near the curb below under the glare of the gas light, intently. “It looks,” said he, “like Nolan’s sister.” “Cheese it!” whispered Murphy. But Roddy Ferguson had caught the words; and he stood with his elbow resting on the piano top, chewing at the end of his cigar, and looking with clouded brow into the fire. It was an open secret that Bella had thrown him over for Martin Kelly; Roddy was too quiet and steady to suit her light temperament, he lacked Martin’s swagger and bluster, qualities which Bella liked, for she was one of those women who mistake excess for a proof of spirit and dissolute living for a mark of manhood. Martin had found Bella waiting for him in front of Riley’s. His anger had not had time to cool, and he demanded roughly: “Well, what d’youse want?” “I’d like to speak to you Martin,” timidly. “Say, don’t youse begin to dog me up, d’ye hear! I won’t have it!” “You didn’t meet me last night at Whalen’s dance like ye said ye would, and I thought somethin’ might be the matter.” “Nothin’s the matter only I’m ’lectioneering for the old man, an’ I ain’t got no time to meet women.” “S-h-h! Mart Kelly, I don’t thank you one bit for talkin’ to me like that! Anybody to hear ye would think I was common.” He looked at her for a moment, and then laughed: “Oh, I guess not,” said he. “Well, don’t do it no more! I don’t want people talkin’ about me and giving me a shamed face. Ye know, yourself, they’d on’y be too ready. Oh, my Gawd,” suddenly, “here comes Mom!” Mrs. Nolan, a market basket upon her arm, came down the street with staggering step. Dick had entrusted her with money enough to go marketing and it had gone for drink; she was muttering to herself and gesticulating drunkenly, and as she caught sight of the pair by the curb, she halted: “Ah!” cried she. “Is it spharkin’ be the gutter yez’ed be doin’, jewels? Have ye no home till go till, Bella, that yez must stan’ on the strate!” “Oh, go home!” cried Bella, scarlet with shame, “everybody’s lookin’ at you!” “Divil a hair do I care. Sure, an’ haven’t I the roight till take a sup av drink iv I have the price? It’s not long yez father ’ud be in biz’ness,” she added to Martin, “iv it wurn’t for the loikes av me.”