Part 2 (2/2)
”Who do I think I am? I'm the conductor of this car and if you----”
Rosie made for the Schnitzer and, with all her strength, sent the cup of her hand straight at his chin. You have seen a ninepin wobble uncertainly for a moment, then go down. The comparison is inevitable. A yell of rage and fright from the sidewalk at her feet brought Rosie to her senses. Glory be, she had chin-choppered him good and proper!
But what to do next? What next? In her mind's eye Rosie saw the interior of a street-car with George Riley dancing a jig on the prostrate form of a giant. Thereupon Danny Agin and Mary, his wife, who by this time had joined him, and the woman next door, with a baby in her arms, saw Rosie O'Brien perform a similar jig over the squirming members of the Schnitzer.
That trampled creature was sending forth a terrific bellow of, ”Murder!
Murder! Mommer! Help! I'm gettin' killed!”
”And just good for him, too!” the woman with the baby shouted over to Mary and Danny. ”I've been watching the way he's been teasing the life out of that little girl!”
”Good wur-r-rk, Rosie, good wur-r-rk!” old Danny kept wheezing as he pounded his stick in enthusiastic applause.
As the jig ended, Rosie stooped and s.n.a.t.c.hed off the Schnitzer's cap.
For a moment she hesitated, for there was no mud-puddle on the street into which to throw it. Then she noticed a tree. Good! That would give him some trouble. She twisted the cap in her hand and tossed it up into a high branch where it lodged securely.
Then she leaned over the Schnitzer for the last time. He was moaning and groaning and whimpering with no least little spark of fight left in him.
And was this the thing she used to be afraid of? Danny was right: never again would she fear him. She gazed at him long and scornfully. Then she gave him one last stir with her foot and brought the episode to a close.
”Now then, you big bully, if you've had enough, get off this car--I mean, _sidewalk_, and go home and tell your--your _mother_, I mean, that she wants you!”
And, as Rosie said that evening in relating the adventure to George Riley: ”And, oh, Jarge, you just ought ha' seen how that stiff got up and went!”
CHAPTER III
THE PAPER-GIRL
On Sat.u.r.day night as soon as supper was cleared away, Terence was accustomed to make out his weekly accounts. He had a small account-book with crisscross rulings and two fascinating little canvas money-bags, one for coppers, the other for nickels and silver. After his book accounts were finished, he would gravely open his money-bags and, with banker-like precision, pile up together coins of the same denomination--pennies by themselves, nickels by themselves, dimes, and so on.
Though oft repeated, it was an impressive performance and one that Rosie and little Jack surveyed with untiring gravity and respect. With a frown between his eyes and his lips working silently, Terence would estimate the totals of the various piles, then the sum total. He would very deliberately compare this with the amount his book showed and then--it always happened just this way--with a sigh of relief, he would murmur to himself: ”All right this time!”
On this particular night, instead of sweeping the money piles back into their little bags at once, Terence paused and looked at Rosie with a questioning: ”Well?”
”Well.” Rosie used the same word with a different intonation.
”I suppose I owe you twenty cents.”
”Yes, Terry, you do.”
”Are you having any trouble?”
With a truthfulness that made her own heart glow with happiness, Rosie was able to answer: ”No, I'm not having a bit of trouble, honest I'm not. You're going to let me have it now regular, aren't you?”
Before Terence could answer, Ellen O'Brien, who was seated on the far side of the table, presumably studying the pothooks of stenography, called out suddenly: ”Ma! Ma! Come here! Quick!”
Mrs. O'Brien appeared at once. She was still nursing the baby to sleep, but no matter. Whenever her oldest child called, Mrs. O'Brien came.
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