Part 24 (1/2)
Bill crossed to the old man, who, propped against the table, watched the contents of the bottle gurgle and splash into the huge tin cup, and laid a hand upon his arm.
”That will do, Daddy,” he said.
The man ceased to pour and peered inquisitively into the cup. ”'Taint half full yit!” he protested, pa.s.sing it to Bill, who set it before him upon the table, where the rich fumes reached his nostrils as he spoke:
”This whisky,” he began, ”smells good--plenty good enough for any man.
But, you don't seem to understand. I don't drink whisky--good whisky, or bad whisky, or old whisky, or new whisky, or red, white, and blue whisky--or any other kind of booze.
”I have drunk it--bottles of it--kegs of it--barrels of it, I suppose, for I played the game from Harlem to the Battery. And then I quit.”
”Ye ain't tellin' me ye're timperence?” The old man inquired with concern as he would have inquired after an ailment.
”No; that is, if you mean am I one of those who would vote the world sober by prohibiting the sale of liquor. It is a personal question which every man must meet squarely--for himself--not for his neighbor.
I am not afraid of whisky. I am not opposed to it, as an issue. In fact, I respect it, for, personally, it has given me one peach of a sc.r.a.p--and we are quits.”
The old man listened with interest.
”Ye c'n no more kape a McKim from foightin' thin ye c'n kape a dacoit from staylin,” he chuckled. ”So ye tur-rned in an' give th' crayther himsilf a foight--an' ye win ut? An' phwat does th' gir-rl think av ut?”
”What!”
”Th' gir-rl. Is she proud av ye? Or is she wan av thim that thinks ut aisy to quit be just lavin' ut alone? For, sure, ut niver intered th'
head av man--let alone a McKim, to tur-rn ag'in' liquor, lessen they was a gir-rl at th' bottom av ut. An' phwin ar-re ye goin' to be marrit? For, av she's proud av ye, ye'll marry her--but av she takes ut as a mather av coorse--let some wan ilse git stung.”
Bill regarded the old man sharply, but in his bearing was no hint of jesting nor raillery, and the little eyes were serious.
”Yes, there _was_ a girl,” said Bill slowly; ”but she--she does not know.”
”So ye've had a sc.r.a.p wid her, too! But, tell me ye didn't run away from ut--ye're goin' back?” Bill made no reply, and the old man conveyed the food to the table, muttering to himself the while:
”Sure they's more foightin' goin' on thin Oi iver thought to see ag'in.
Ut ain't rid war, but ut ain't so bad--werwolves, Moncrossen, booze, Creed, a bit av a gir-rl somewheres, Shtromberg--th' wor-rld is growin'
bether afther all, an' Oi'm goin' to be in th' thick av ut!”
Supper over, Bill donned mackinaw, cap, and mittens.
”Phwere ye goin'?” asked Dunnigan.
”To find Creed.”
”Wait a bit, 'tis early yit. In half an hour he'll be clost around Burrage's shtove, tellin' th' b'ys about th' bur-rnt shack at Melton's.”
Bill resumed his chair.
”Oi've been thinkin' ut out,” continued Daddy, between short puffs at his cutty-pipe. ”Ye'll have no fun lickin' Creed--'tis shmall satisfaction foightin' a man that won't foight back. An-ny-how, a black eye or a b.l.o.o.d.y nose is soon minded. An' av ye tur-rn um over to th'
authorities ye ain't got much on um, an' ye can't pr-rove phwat ye have got.