“I’ll go round and bruise up yer father,” said he. “I’ll talk to him like a Dutch uncle, I will. Him and the two old ones’ll play light on the ghost game when I get through. They’ll see it ain’t no use. Take a walk with Jimmie, Rosie; don’t go home till youse t’ink I’ve left. I’ll make it right, all right!” But this was not the only incident of the morning. Annie Clancy stood in the door of the grocery store; and as Goose McGonagle came along he naturally stopped for a chat. The voice of Clancy could be heard grumbling from the interior. “What’s the matter with yer father?” asked Goose. “Don’t talk too loud,” warned Annie, with uplifted finger, “he might hear ye. He’s been in an awful temper ever since his half sister, old Miss Cassidy, died. They say she left her money to the Church. He thought he’d git it, and then he’d be able to pay--you know what.” The milkman nodded. “I ought to,” answered he, “I can’t t’ink o’ the mess I’m in meself without t’inkin’ o’ that. But his temper don’t cut no ice with me, Annie, I’m goin’ to talk to him to-day if I git t’run down or not.” “Annie!” called Clancy, angrily. “Sure, what keeps yez glosterin’ be the dure? Come in at wanst, an’ tind till yez bit av wurk.” “He knows I’m here,” smiled Goose. “I must go in,” whispered Annie, “good-by.” Goose started up the street upon his round, muttering: “Clancy ain’t so many, if he does run a grocery store. Annie’s willin’ to call it a go, an’ I don’t see--Gee! Here comes O’Hara.” The second-hand dealer had just come out of his shop; he wore his narrow-rimmed high hat and carried his thick black-thorn cane. “Good mornin’ till yez, McGonagle,” saluted he. “How are youse?” responded Goose. “I have no rayson till complain,” said O’Hara. Then he tapped his stick once or twice upon the pavement, and cleared his throat. “McGonagle,” said he, “yez will be after havin’ the troifle av money that’s due me nixt week?” “Why, say, O’Hara, t’tell youse the trut’ I don’t see how I kin git it. Bizness is so rotten bad, ye know.” “What’s that? Bad luck till ye, McGonagle, what talk have yez?” “Don’t git hot! Youse heard me speak me piece, didn’t ye? Well, that’s jist what I mean. An’ I can’t stand chewin’ it with youse all day, O’Hara; me customers’ll be waitin’ for their milk. So long.” And with this he hurried off while O’Hara gazed angrily after him for a moment, then started off toward Clancy’s. “The bla’gard!” muttered O’Hara. “The thafe av the world till keep a daysint man out av his bit av money!” He entered Clancy’s and found the grocer alone, seated astride a crate, sorting eggs. “The top av the mornin’ till yez, Clancy,” said O’Hara, politely. “The same till yezsilf,” responded Clancy. “Sure, an’ it’s glad till see yez I am, this foine mornin’.” Then under his breath he added: “God forgi’me for the lie I’m tellin’.” “I’ve jist luked in till ask if yez have the troifle av money that’s due me,” said O’Hara.