"Ye"re----"
"In fact, if you weren"t going to be my father-in-law, I doubt if I could bring myself to forgive you. As it is, I overlook it."
The policeman"s face turned purple.
"Only," said Jimmy, with quiet severity, taking a cigar from the box and snipping off the end, "don"t let it occur again."
He lit the cigar. Mr. McEachern continued to stare fixedly at him. So might the colonel of a regiment have looked at the latest-joined subaltern, if the latter, during mess, had offered to teach him how to conduct himself on parade.
"I"m going to marry your daughter," said Jimmy.
"You are going to marry me daughter!" echoed Mr. McEachern, as one in a trance.
"I am going to marry your daughter."
The purple deepened on Mr. McEachern"s face.
"More," said Jimmy, blowing a smoke ring. "_She_ is going to marry me. We are going to marry each other," he explained.
McEachern"s glare became frightful. He struggled for speech.
"I must congratulate you," said Jimmy, "on the way things went off tonight. It was a thorough success. Everybody was saying so. You"re the most popular man in the county. What would they say of you at Jefferson Market, if they knew? By the way, do you correspond with any of the old set? Splendid fellows, they were. I wish we had some of them here tonight."
Mr. McEachern"s emotions found relief in words. He rose, and waved a huge fist in Jimmy"s face. His great body was shaking with rage.
"You!" shouted the policeman. "You!"
The fist was within an inch of Jimmy"s chin.
Outwardly calm, inwardly very much alive to the fact that at any moment the primitive man in him might lead his prospective father-in-law beyond the confines of self-restraint, Jimmy sat still in his chair, his eyes fixed steadily on those of his relative-to-be.
It was an uncomfortable moment. Mr. McEachern, if he made an a.s.sault, might regret it subsequently. But he would not be the first to do so.
The man who did that would be a certain James Pitt. If it came to blows, the younger man could not hope to hold his own with the huge policeman.
"You!" roared McEachern. Jimmy fancied he could feel the wind of moving fist. "You marry me daughter! A New York crook. The sweepings of the Bowery. A man who ought to be in jail. I"d like to break your face in."
"I noticed that," said Jimmy. "If it"s all the same to you, will you take your fist out of my mouth? It makes it a little difficult to carry on a conversation. And I"ve several things I should like to say."
"Ye"ll listen to me!"
"Certainly. You were saying?"
"Ye come here. Ye worm yourself into my house, crawl into it----"
"I came by invitation, and in pa.s.sing, not on all fours. Mr.
McEachern, may I ask one question?"
"What is ut?"
"If you didn"t want me, why did you let me stop here?"
The policeman stopped as if he had received a blow. There came flooding back into his mind the recollection of his position. In his wrath, he had forgotten that Jimmy knew his secret. And he looked on Jimmy as a man who would use his knowledge.
He sat down heavily.
Jimmy went on smoking in silence for a while. He saw what was pa.s.sing in his adversary"s mind, and it seemed to him that it would do no harm to let the thing sink in.
"Look here, Mr. McEachern," he said, at last, "I wish you could listen quietly to me for a minute or two. There"s really no reason on earth why we should always be at one another"s throats in this way. We might just a well be friends, as we should be if we met now for the first time. Our difficulty is that we know too much about each other. You knew me in New York, and you know what I did there. Naturally, you don"t like the idea of my marrying your daughter. You can"t believe that I"m not simply an ordinary yegg, like the rest of the crooks you used to know. I promise you, I"m not. Can"t you see that it doesn"t matter what a man has been? It"s what he is and what he means to be that counts. Mr. Patrick McEachern, of Corven Abbey, isn"t the same as Constable McEachern, of the New York police. Well, then, I have nothing to do with the man I was when you knew me first. I have disowned him. He"s a back number. I am an ordinary English gentleman now. My uncle has left me more than well off. I am a baronet. And is it likely that a baronet--_with_ money, mind you--is going to carry on the yegg business as a side line? Be reasonable. There"s really no possible objection to me now. Let"s shake, and call the fight off.
Does that go?"
The policeman was plainly not unmoved by these arguments. He drummed his fingers on the table, and stared thoughtfully at Jimmy.
"Is Molly--" he said, at length, "does Molly----"
"Yes," said Jimmy. "And I can promise you I love her. Come along, now.
Why wait?"
McEachern looked doubtfully at Jimmy"s outstretched hand. He moved his own an inch from the table, then let it fall again.
"Come on," said Jimmy. "Do it now. Be a sport."
And with a great grunt, which might have meant anything, from resignation to cordiality, Mr. McEachern capitulated.
CHAPTER XX.
The American liner, _St. Louis_, lay in the Empress Dock, at Southampton, taking aboard her pa.s.sengers. All sorts and conditions of men flowed in an unceasing stream up the gangway.
Leaning over the second-cla.s.s railing, Jimmy Pitt and Spike Mullins watched them thoughtfully.
Jimmy looked up at the Blue Peter that fluttered from the foremast, and then at Spike. The Bowery boy"s face was stolid and expressionless. He was smoking a short wooden pipe, with an air of detachment.
"Well, Spike," said Jimmy. "Your schooner"s on the tide now, isn"t it?
Your vessel"s at the quay. You"ve got some queer-looking fellow travellers. Don"t miss the two Cinghalese sports, and the man in the turban and the baggy breeches. I wonder if they"re air-tight. Useful if he fell overboard."
"Sure," said Spike, directing a contemplative eye toward the garment in question. "He knows his business."
"I wonder what those men on the deck are writing. They"ve been scribbling away ever since we came here. Probably society journalists.
We shall see in next week"s _Sphere_: "Among the second-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers we noticed Mr. "Spike" Mullins, looking as cheery as ever."
It"s a pity you"re so set on going, Spike. Why not change your mind, and stop?"
For a moment, Spike looked wistful. Then his countenance resumed its woodenness. "Dere ain"t no use for me dis side, Mr. Chames," he said.
"New York"s de spot. Youse don"t want none of me, now you"re married.
How"s Miss Molly, Mr. Chames?"
"Splendid, Spike; thanks. We"re going over to France by to-night"s boat."