“Well, Peter O’Brien had lived on long enough to have th’ pious curses iv th’ entire parish, whin th’ fire broke out, th’ second fire iv sivinty-four, whin th’ damage was tin or twinty millions iv dollars an’ I lost a bull terrier be th’ name iv Robert Immitt, r-runnin’ afther th’ ingines.  O’Brien disappeared fr’m th’ r-road durin’ th’ fire,—­he had some property on th’ South Side,—­an’ wasn’t seen or heerd tell iv f’r a day.  Th’ nex’ mornin’ th’ rayport come in that he was seen walkin’ over th’ red bridge with a baby in his arms.  ’Glory be!’ says I:  ‘is th’ man goin’ to add canniballing to his other crimes?’ Sure enough, as I sthud in th’ dureway, along come O’Brien, with his hands scalded, his eyebrows gone, an’ most iv his clothes tore fr’m his back, but silent an’ grim as iver, with a mite iv a girl held tight to his breast, an’ her fast asleep.

“He had a house back iv my place,—­he ownded th’ fifty feet frontin’ on Grove Sthreet, bought it fr’m a man named Grogan,—­an’ ’twas rinted be a widdy lady be th’ name iv Sullivan, wife iv a bricklayer iv th’ same name.  He was sthridin’ into th’ Widow Sullivan’s house; an’ says he, ‘Mistress Sullivan,’ he says.  ‘Yes,’ says she, in a thremble, knottin’ her apron in her hands an’ standin’ in front iv her own little wans, ‘what can I do f’r ye?’ she says.  ‘Th’ rent’s not due till to-morrow.’  ‘I very well know that,’ he says; ‘an’ I want ye to take care iv this wan’, he says.  ‘An’ I’ll pay ye f’r ye’er throuble,’ he says.

“We niver knew where he got th’ child:  he niver told annywan.  Docthor Casey said he was badly burnt about th’ head an’ hands.  He testified to it in a suit he brought again O’Brien f’r curin’ him.  F’r th’ man O’Brien, instead iv rayformin’ like they do in th’ play, was a long sight meaner afther he done this wan thing thin iver befure.  If he was tight-fisted wanst, he was as close now as calcimine on a rough-finished wall.  He put his tinints out in th’ cold without mercy, he kicked blind beggars fr’m th’ dure, an’ on his dyin’-bed he come as near bein’ left be raison iv his thryin’ to bargain with th’ good man f’r th’ rayqueems as annywan ye iver see.  But he raised th’ little girl; an’ I sometimes think that, whin they count up th’ cash, they’ll let O’Brien off with a character f’r that wan thing, though there’s some pretty hard tabs again him.

“They ain’t much point in what I’ve told ye more thin this,—­that beneath ivry man’s outside coat there lies some good feelin’.  We ain’t as bad as we make ourselves out.  We’ve been stringin’ ropes across th’ sthreet f’r th’ people iv Saint Looey f’r thirty years an’ handin’ thim bricks fr’m th’ chimbleys whiniver we got a chance, but we’ve on’y got wurruds an’ loose change f’r thim whin th’ hard times comes.”

“Yes,” said Mr. McKenna, “I see even the aldhermen has come to the front, offering relief.”

“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, thoughtfully, “I on’y hope they won’t go to Saint Looey to disthri-bute it thimsilves.  That would be a long sight worse thin th’ cyclone.”