"Good day to you, officer," said Patsy ingratiatingly.
"Son of a bitch!" said the street cleaner bitterly, as he
started to clean Up.
As Patsy led the horses away, he thought: He 7nea~zt
the male for no man in the world could call me that and
live to tell it.
He had other duties. He had to sweep the sidewalk and
stoop and rake the yard daily. He put the filled garbage
can at the curb at night and impaled the filled trash bag
on a spike of the railing around the house. He beat the
rugs and washed the windows and stretched the lace
curtains on the frames. In short he had to obey The
Missus' bidding anal Biddy's Shims.
Three times a week he took a wooden bucket and
walked ten blocks to a slaughter house on North Street
where he got kidneys or a liver or a couple of hearts or
other variety meats which were given away free. Once a
week, on slaughtering days, he brought home a bucket of
fresh blood. Moriarity seasoned it with pepper and
flavored it with lemon juice and drank half of it as a tonic.
T he other half was mixed with various ingredients and
made into a fearful thing called blood pudding. Patsy
could hardly get it down. Biddy stood over him and made
hhn eat it, assuring him that it would give him stren'tll.
"I been eating it three years," she said' "and I can lick a
ox."
"I don't want to lick no ox," he said.
Cohen he had an idle moment in the day, he sat on a
three-legged stool in the stable with a coffee grinder
between his knees and ground up some of the horses'
oats. Biddy treated it like oatmeal and made it into a
breakfast gruel. Patsy, as well as the other members of the
household, had to eat a bowlful of it each morning
because of Moriarity's theory. The Boss figured that if
horses grew strong on oats, human beings could attain the
strength of a horse by eating the same oats.
"Is it a nation of giants," Yatsy asked Biddy, "he would
have walking the streets of I.rook1N7t1 and all with the
same braving horse laugh he does ONE'."
The steamship man c ailed on Patsy each payday and
Patsv gave him two dollars, which the man marked in a
little black book.
"Only fifty-eight dollars more," the collector had said
after the first payment. "you'll be paid up in a vear."
[421
"I don't want to stay here a year," Patsy had told him. "I
don't like it here. I want to go back to Ireland."
"No reason why you shouldn't after two years."
"Two . . . ? "
"A year to pay off your passage here and a year to pay
off your passage back."
Two years before he could go back or two years before
he could send his mother passage money. No. He couldn't
wait. He'd save every penny.... To that end, he got an
empty cigar box from Van Clees, a young Dutch cigar
Walter from whom Patsy bought a Seamy clay pipe once
in a while and a sack of tobacco. Patsy nailed the cover
shut and cut a slit in the cover. He dropped his savings in
the slit.
The savings accumulated very slowly. Patsy was not
extravagant and his needs were few enough, but there was
always something to buy. Aside from fifteen cents a week
for clay pipes and tobacco, he had to pay ten cents twice
a week for a shave at the barber's. He couldn't afford to
buy a straight razor and honing strap. A haircut once a
month cost twenty cents. A nickel went into the collection
plate at Mass each Sunday. Then he needed socks and a
union suit and another shirt and a Sunday tie and pomade
for his hair. There was a beer or two of a Saturday
night not that he was a drinking man. But he liked the
conviviality of the saloon where voices were raised in song
and one could count on a grand fight starting up once in
a while. But he did manage to save a dollar a week.
Mary asked him kindly- had he heard from his mother.
It was then he realized two months had gone by and he
hadn't written. No, he said, he hadn't heard because he
hadn't written. Yes, he could read and write but had never
written a letter because at home everyone he knew was
close by and letters weren't necessary. It was addressing
tile envelope that bothered him and the proper stamp.
That night she made him a present of a box of
stationery and a penholder and a half-doztn penpoints and
a bottle of ink. She had a stamped envelope addressed for
him. He wrote that night.
He wrote his mother that it might be two years before
he could send for her. He suggested she get in touch with
the Liverpool sport and get passage and a job. He wrote:
[ 43 ]
apartment here . . . He looked around his barren room.
God forgive me fur Iying, he prayed. (He often took a
short cut like that to get rid of minor venial sins. It saved
time at confession.)
He wrote that he was sending her an American dollar
in the letter and . . . The young lady of the house is stuck
on me . . . She gave me a grand present . . .
It was a fine present, the stationery. He didn't believe,
really, that Mary was stuck on him. He wrote it knowing
his mother's tongue was tied in the middle and wagged at
both ends and she'd be sure to tell Maggie Rose and the
girl would be jealous and would write to him. A half page
more of boasting, and the letter was finished.
He waited every day for a letter. Two months passed
and he had given up hope of hearing from home, when
one night Mary came down to the kitchen where he was
eating supper with Biddy, and smilingly put a letter next
his plate. He finished his supper in a hurry and went up
to his room to read the letter. It was written by Bertie, the
Broommaker.
Esteemed Son: Yours at hand and contents noted. Your
one dollar received. I trust more to follow. I informed
Miss Shawn of your new attachment. Miss Shawn requests
that I tender you her congratulations. Miss Shawn
requests me to inform you that she, also, has formed a
new attachment.
I must decline with thanks your kind invitation to join
you in America under the conditions you set forth. I have
no wish to become a domestic for no gentlewoman of our
family has ever gone into service. It is my desire to remain
here in order to die where I was born and to sleep the
eternal sleep at the side of my dear, departed husband,
your father.
Pray extend my cordial greetings to your guide and
mentor, M. Moriarity, Esquire. T remain your devoted
mother, Elizabeth A. Moore. (Mrs.)
So she took it serious, thought Patsy, and she thinks I
have a girl and after I gave me promise . . . and now she
won't come to me a-tall. He put his head down on his
; arms and cried a little. He knew that the last link
between him and Ireland had been broken. Ale mother
don't want me now, he wept, but she wouldn't let .llaggie
Rose have me. And now me girl went and got another f
eller....
[44~1
After a while, he wiped }liS eyes, busted open his bank
and took out a half dollar. He went down to the saloon,
had ten five-cent beers, two fights and ate most of the free
lunch left over from noon. He felt much better afterward.
Mary, returning from the druggist's where she'd gone to
buy a cake of castile soap with which to wash her hair, saw
him go into the saloon. She surmised that the letter from
home had not been a happy one. ';he decided to have a
talk with him in the morning.
"Patrick," she said the next morning after the exchange
of greetings, "you must be lonesome a strange country,
no relatives and you don't go out enough to make friends."
Then, a little breathlessly, she made her suggestion. "Did
you know there are places in Rockawav where Irish
people go to dance? And many of the counties have their
own dance hall. I know there's one for Galway and
Donega] and I(:erry. Perhaps there's one for Kilkenny.
Why don't you go this Saturdav, Patrick? You might meet
somebody from home."
"I would, Miss Mary, but . . ."
"And get yourself some nice clothes."
"I would. Only . . ."
"Go to Batterman's or Gorman's. You can get clothes
on time. Most working people do. So much down, so
much a week. Give our name as reference."
"I will do so, Miss Marv, and I do be thanking you...."
"Not at all, Patrick. You're too young to spend your
evenings sitting in that little room."
He did as she suggested He bought a straw hat for a
dollar and bulldog-tip shoes that cost a cool two dollars,
a candy-striped shirt and two celluloid collars and a
made-up, snap-on polka-dot bow tie. His suit was dear:
eight dollars. He got it just in time. The pants he'd worn
steadily since leaving Ireland were almost transparent
from wear.
"Them pants don't owe you nothing, Mister," said the
salesman feelingly.
He dressed up the following Saturday evening and made
a little sensation in the household. The Boss said: "When
me stable boy dresses better than meself, one of us is got
to go." Iloriarity's idea of a joke.
Mary thought: How very yoYIng he is! How good looking!
1 4~]
The Missus said: "I wish 1 had a son.' 1 hen threw her
hands over her head and ran upstairs.
Biddy said: "The likes of hhn putting on airs and him
looking like a monkey on a stick!"
He found his way to Rockavay. Fhere were dance halls
with doors wide as barndoors standing open and banners
above them with names of the counties: Kerry, Sligo,
Donegal, Cork, Tipperary and others. Inside, the pipes
snarled and hefty, flushed servant girls danced with
barrel-cheated truck drivers and theN danced pounding
their feet as though they would make holes in the floor.
The noise drowned out the gentle swish of the ocean
nearby.
Patsy could find no lLilkelloy banner 50 he went into
COuntN Sligo. A girl with a wild-rose flush in her cheeks
that reminded him a little bit of Maggie Rose was sitting
alone with a schooner of beer before her. He went to her
intending to ask for a dance, hut before he could form
the words a burly bruiser appeared out of nowhere and
sat dot n next the girl.
"Yes?" asked the bruiser. The word was a challenge.
"Nothing," answered Patsv. The vord was a withdrawal.
He went into County Derry and sav two girls dancing
together. Ele walked out on the floor, touched the
shoulder of one of them and said: "Breaks" The girls w
ere delighted one of them, anyway. When that dance
was done, he danced with the other girl. Between dances,
they sat down and Patsy treated them to beer. He
alternated dancing with the two all evening. From time to
tingle they sat down and had another schooner. As the
evening w ore on, the girls quarreled with each other as
to which one he'd e scort home. Pats settled it by
promisirla to take both home. Then he excuse,! hilllsclf to
go to the men's room. He sneaked out the side door and
took the train for horlle, letting the girls sit there.
Going over the trestle, he counted the money in his
pocket. Only sixty cents left! And he had Connie out with
two dollars! Sweat broke out on his sorehead. I can't do
this again, he thought, spending me money like a
dr~`iZkc7` sailor. I'll never save me prst n~illio7z spending
it before I save it.
That was the end of ]'atsv's social life.
14ri 1
~ CHIN PTER SIX ~
WHEN September came, Moriarity told Patsy he'd have
to go to night school.
"But I know me reading Jnd writing," protested Patsv.
"And do I not speak English?"
"You have to take lessons," said The Boss, "so's you can
learn to be a citizen and vote the Democratic ticket."
"'Tis of no interest to me."
"The party needs your vote."
"It can't get it till I'm lining five years in Broo'Klyn."
"Who said so?"
"Mary. I mean, Miss Mary. Three years if you marry an
American woman, she said."
"Are you figuring on petting married?"
"I got no intentions."
"Miss Mary," said The Boss carefully, "is kind to dogs
and old people and servants. 'Tis her nature. So don't get
idears."
He saw Patsy's eyes flicker. Hit the bull's eye that time,
thought Moriarity. Got to watch him fron,' now on.
Patsy refused to go to night school. He said: "Me days
belong to you but me nights belong to me." (He'd been in
America long enough now to know his rights.)
Moriarity was in a fix. The boss over him had created a
job: a night class in civics and current events to give
employment to a spinster relative of a boss two bosses
higher than Moriarity. To make it legitimate with the
school board, the class had to have an enrollment of
thirty. Orders had gone out from the top to fill the class.
"Tell you what, Pathrick," said Moriarity. "You go to
night school and I'll raise your pay fifty cents a week
more."
"And what is fifty cents?" shrugged Patsy.
"Fifty cents!" Moriarity grew Iyrical. "Fifty cents is fifty
clay pipes. It's ten beers a week in a grand saloon with the
boys
1 4-'1
ch~sterin' around and laughing and singing and yourself
amongst them. It's five Saturday nights at the Gat-tee
Bur-less show and yourself high in the gallery where you
can see all.
"
"No!" Patsy was adamant.
Mary spoke to him the next morning. "It would be nice
if you v. ent to night school, Patrick. You could dress up
nights in your nice suit, get out among people, perhaps
make a friend or two...."
He didn't want to go but he wanted to please her. She'd
been SO kind; treated him as a friend, not a servant. Only
last week, she'd given him a beautiful plate hand-painted
china, painted by herself to put his pipes on. Her gift of
stationery, ink and pen and the pretty plate standing on
his little table made his room seem more cheerful and
warm.
"I will go," he said. "1~ or you."
A delicate pink color flowed into her cheeks. She said,
"Thank you, Patrick."
Patsy sat in a seat built for a ten-year-old child. His legs
were jammed under the little desk. He looked around the
classroom trying to find someone to hate. He'd about
decided that there was no one in the room worth hating
when he saw a banty Irishman slip into the seat across the
aisle.
He'll never make pa' feet standing up, thought Patsy
scornfully. And he's got no teeth, the way his Oath is folded
into his face.
The little fellow wore a broken-visored cap pulled down
over one eye. There were a couple of pearl buttons sewed
on the visor and loose, dirty threads where other buttons
had been.
So, deduced Patsv. '4 fishmonger, come from the slops of
Dublin where all the black Prattisstants come frown.
The little man, feeling that Patsy was sizing him up,
turned to grin at him. Patsy scowled in return. Patsy was
about to start an argument by asking the man who did he
think he was looking at when the teacher came in.
She was a buxom, micldle-aged woman. There was a
black button on her dress from which hung a pair of
pince-nez eyeglasses. She rapped the edge of her desk
with a brass-edged ruler. She pulled on lier glasses and an
attached chain came out of the button. She pinched the
glasses onto the bridge of her nose.
'This is a class in civics, current events and American
citizen
[ 4y 1
ship," she announced. "The class meets five nights a week.
Mv name is McCarthy. Miss," she emphasized. "Now I will
take your names, gentlemen."
The little banty Irishman tittered at the word
''Gentlemen.'' Miss McCarthy pointed her ruler at him.
"You!" she said. "Stand up!" He did so. The little fellow
was under five feet tall. She removed her glasses from her
nose and held them daintily, shoulder high, between her
thumb and forefinger. "Remove your hat"' He obeyed.
"What's your name?"
"MacCart'y," he said. "A~lick."
She thought he was mimicking her. She came from
behind her desk. "What did you say>" she said
menacingly, spacing each word.
His eyes rolled in terror. He gasped "Mick Mack . . ."
He was so scared he couldn't get the "Carthy" out. "click
Mack," he repeated.
"Mick Mack?" she asked with a puzzled frown.
The class howled with laughter. She gave her glasses a
jerk and they crawled up on her bosom, following the
chain which disappeared in the button. She opened her
desk drawer and took out an Indian chlb. She hefted it by
the neck.
"Attention! " she said. She waited for silence. "I don't
like teaching you any more than you like being taught. I
do not want any trouble. But if anyone of you is looking
for trouble, I'll be glad to accommodate him. Any
questions?" She tightened her grip on the Indian club.
There were no questions.
Patsy was filled with admiration of the woman. My God,
he thought, you can't love her but you sure as hell got to
respect her.'
She went through the class and got the names. Some
were hard to get. A person could tell his name but he
couldn't spell it. A Pole, whose name sounded like
Powllowski, she announced would be set down as Powers.
When it came to a Schwarzkopf, she stated that, from that
time on, it would be Blackhead. The poor man begged to
be permitted to keep his name but Miss McCarthy was