Jerry

Front matter

SRR Sy

Lar

A Novel |

Contents

I. Tue Hero PAys FOR HIS BEER: AND SHAKES HANDS WITH A CANDIDATE FOR CONGRESS . 1

II. Mrs. DonoHUE TIDIES UP HER Partor: MisHap or THE Mremortan Dove. . .).). 10

III. A PRoFANATION GREATER THAN THAT OF A Room SwEpt AND GARNISHED: WHAT THE VOICES OF THE NIGHT SANG TO JERRY. . . . 26

II

MRS. DONOHUE TIDIES UP HER PARLOR: MISHAP OF THE MEMORIAL DOVE

Own Friday and Saturday Mrs. Donohue energetically conducted a house-cleaning; she took up the parlor and dining-room carpets, draped them on a clothes-line in the front yard, and with her head swathed ina blue polka-dot handkerchief, beat them with a rattan stick.

“If he’s good enough to go to Congress, he’s good enough to have this house fixed up for him a bit,”’ she would say. She could not help exhibiting her pride over the distinction that had been conferred on Jerry. ““ And it the first chance he’s ever had to vote in all his life!” she would conclude. “And a Congressman making up to him right off! Ain’t he the lucky boy!”

By Saturday night she had put down the carpets and washed the parlor and dining-room curtains; these on Monday had to be darned, for they were old and did not well endure her vigorous cleansing. On Monday, too, she washed the windows and dusted the furniture, the pictures, the chandeliers — singing all the while. She finished crocheting the tidy and hung it over the stain on the red plush chair. The paper roses on the parlor mantel had become soiled after six months of decorative service; unwilling to throw them away as having outlived their beauty, she went over them, petal by petal, with a bit of damp cloth. No gardener ever tended living roses with more care than that which she had bestowed in trying to preserve the fresh appearance of these flowers. Likewise, though an object of even greater solicitude, had the white memorial dove been grimed and flecked. Against a sheaf of rushes and enclosed in a frame lined with white satin, it hung head down, wings outstretched, transfixed by an arrow which was issuing at its back. Beneath it, worked in red worsteds, was inscribed, ‘‘At Rest.”

**T declare, Jerry,” said Mrs. Donohue, surrendering — to despondency on Monday evening, “‘if there’s been one thing that I’ve tried to keep free from spot and stain since your father’s death, it’s that dove. But what with the soft-coal smoke, the soot, the dust aflying in from the street, that dove is no longer the pure white bird it ought to be. I hope Mr. Maxwell won't notice the specks on it, and think we’ve failed in our duty towards the dead.”

“You have n’t!” Jerry cried, folding her in his arms.

“I’ve tried not, Jerry.”’ She got a hand free from his embrace and wiped her eyes. “It ain’t a room that’s been used much, certainly. And when I have come in here, I’ve always had a thought of him. I’ve always tried not to have thoughts or say words in here such as —as he would n’t like if he knew. And I’ve felt you’ve always tried to do the same, Jerry.”

The young man nodded; he was old enough to vote, but there were even yet times when he could not be sure of his voice.

“‘Now stop your worrying,” he said at last soothingly. “You’re just played out. You’ve made the house look fine — but you need n’t to have.”

“I wanted it as your father would have liked it if ever a Congressman had come to sit with him. But I am tuckered, and there’s things to do to-morrow —so I guess I’ll go to bed. Good-night, child.”

Jerry stroked her cheek. “4

“You ought n’t to work like this for me or anybody else — not even for dad,” he said gently. ‘‘Good-night.”

Tuesday evening, when Jerry came home from the mill, he found his mother in a state of triumphant exhaustion.

“*T did think at one time I never would get through,” she said. ““I hope I’ve froze up enough ice cream and fried enough doughnuts. How many do you think will come, Jerry?”

“You mean to say you’ve been freezing ice cream and frying doughnuts! Well, if youain’t a wonder! Mr. Maxwell didn’t mean we should do that kind of thing.”

“T don’t know as that’s Mr. Maxwell’s affair,” replied Mrs. Donohue with dignity. “If you’re going to have folks, be hospitable. I borrowed the Driscolls’ freezer, and that along with our own makes four gallons. So it ain’t as if you’d been inviting your friends to an empty house. I'll spend the evening at the Driscolls’ — and say, Jerry, Mrs. Driscoll asked if we might n’t slip over some time during the party, her and me, and peek through the window — she’d so like to see the Congressman. I told her we could.”

“Sure,” said Jerry. “And if you’ll make some kind of signal, I’ll sneak you out some ice cream.”

In his black suit and stiff collar, with a salmon pink necktie which flared violently against the deeper pink of his neck and face, Jerry descended the stairs. His mother had just finished putting the dishes away in the kitchen.

“My, but you do look nice!”’ she assured him. ‘‘ Now I’m going up to change my dress, so I'll be ready to run over to Mrs. Driscoll’s the moment he comes. Don’t stir round and get yourself all mussed up and excited, child; just sit still and be calm.” |

Obediently, but with an uncomfortable consciousness of his collar, Jerry sat in the parlor and endeavored to give his mind to “Ben Hur.” The doorbell jangling violently summoned him.

A brewery wagon was waiting at the curb; the teamster was waiting at the door.

“Two kegs for J. Donohue,” said the teamster. “‘ This the place?”

“Yes, but I did n’t order any —”’

“Sent by John Maxwell.”

The teamster strode down to his wagon and lifted a keg out in his arms. Jerry held the door open for him dumbly.

“In there.” Jerry pointed to the dining-room.

“Jer-ry!”’ The call.came from upstairs just as the teamster had departed for the second keg. ‘Did you go to the door?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Who was it?”

“Oh, just a — just a mistake.”

The brewery wagon was turning away when another wagon drew up at the curb. At the door Jerry waited apprehensively. The driver lugged a bushel basket filled with tumblers up the steps.

“In there,” Jerry murmured, pointing to the dining-room.

On a second trip the man brought in four quarts of whiskey and two boxes of cigars.

Jerry closed the dining-room door upon these contributions; then, as if at a loss, he inserted his forefinger down the front of his collar and gave his chin three or four meditative hoists. He returned gravely to the parlor and resumed his reading of “‘ Ben Hur.”

His mother descended the stairs. “‘ What in the world have you been tramping about so for, when I told you to sit still and be calm?” she demanded. ‘I thought the house was coming down.”

“Oh, I wanted to make sure everything was all right,” he answered. “And it is. Now I’ll read you a chapter out of this book.”

And thus placidly were they engaged when the jangling bell proclaimed the first arrival.

“‘T guess I won’t wait to see Mr. Maxwell after all,” said Mrs. Donohue nervously, “‘ unless this is him.”

From up the stairs, whither she retreated, she saw Jerry open the door and admit Dave Scanlan and four or five other friends. Then she took her departure undetected by the guests.

Until the arrival of the candidate, there was an atmosphere of dismal decorum. The young men, assembling at last to the number of twenty-five, conversed in funereally low voices.

At last an automobile puffed up the street and stopped before the house. Instantly the two front windows were blocked with heads; the front door was flung open.

“It’s him!” Jerry announced with excitement.

Mr. Maxwell was a believer in dash, in “snap.” He ran up the plank walk and divested himself of his fur overcoat as he ran.

**Hello! hello! hello!” he cried; he grasped Jerry’s welcoming hand and tossed his overcoat into a corner by the door. “Say, old man, I’m sorry to be late. I’ve brought with me these friends of mine — Mr. Donohue, this is Mr. Tracy, Mr. Jenks, Mr. Tiffin. Darned good fellows, the whole bunch. And, say” — he caught Jerry’s arm and dropped his voice to a whisper — “there are half a dozen more coming up the hill now — saw my machine, gave me a cheer, and invited themselves. One of them’s Jimmy Burns, running for the Legislature. You won’t mind letting ’em in? I guess there’s stuff enough for all.”

“Oh, sure,” said Jerry. “The more the merrier.”

He was quite exhilarated; the candidate’s bounding manner reassured him after the gloomy tension of the last half-hour.

**Now introduce me all round,” said Mr. Maxwell. “And then,” he added in Jerry’s ear, “open up the stuff.”

It was wonderful how Mr. Maxwell’s entrance invigorated the assembly. “Well, boys, here we are again,” was his happy, general greeting. To individuals he was more than kind; he held hands affectionately while he endeavored to recall the Christian name. To his host he vouchsafed an ecstatic moment, calling him “Jerry.” “And I remember you too,” he said to Dave Scanlan. “ You were with Jerry the other day at Grady’s —and you’re — Scanlan. Yes, to be sure, Scanlan. I tell you, I don’t often forget a face — though sometimes I go a little shy on names.”

Jerry flung open the door into the dining-room.

“Fellows,’”’ he announced, “Mr. Maxwell has kindly provided some liquid refreshments and cigars for this evening; if you will kindly step this way.”

_ “A-ay!” cheered the crowd, surging forward. . “And,” shouted Jerry, “ there’s ice cream and doughnuts on the house.”’

Mr. Maxwell got inside the dining-room door. He worked his way into the corner where Jerry was ladling ice cream out of a freezer.

“Jerry,” he said, “Ill bet this was your mother’s doing.”

“It was that.”

“Well, I want some of that ice cream in a moment.”

He turned; some one passed him a glass of beer.

*“Gentlemen! Friends!”? Mr. Maxwell raised his glass above his head, and they all listened. “I want every one here to fill his glass and then join me in a toast that I will propose.”

The activity in the neighborhood of the kegs was resumed. But at last every one was supplied.

** All ready, Congressman,” shouted Dave Scanlan.

Mr. Maxwell mounted a chair. “‘Gentlemen, I want you all to know that Mrs. Donohue with her own hands froze this ice cream and fried these doughnuts for you boys to-night. She wanted you and me, coming here to-night to welcome each other, to enjoy ourselves; and so she did all this for us. Now I say that when the women come into the campaign and give us their support in this way we ’re bound to win. And I want to propose the health of Mrs. Donohue — God bless her!”

There was great cheering; they all drank with avidity. Jerry in his gay excitement accidentally slapped a chunk of ice cream on the floor. He gathered it up with his hands and chucked it into the freezer upon the salted ice, complimenting himself meanwhile on his discretion in withholding from his mother knowledge of the beer. Now knowledge could come to her unaccompanied by any sting of disappointment or disillusion.

Jerry was at last free to go into the parlor. Mr. Maxwell hailed his entrance — waved him forward and put his hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “Fellows,” he said, “T want you all to join with me in singing the praises of our host, Mr. Jerry Donohue.” He seated himself promptly at the piano and, playing the accompaniment, began, “For he’s a jolly good fellow’’; soon all except the blushing Jerry were hilariously challenging a denial. At the end, when Mr. Maxwell was about to leave the instrument, the man whom he had introduced to Jerry as Mr. Tracy spoke up.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Tracy, “I move that Mr. Maxwell continue playing this piece and that we continue singing the same words with reference to him.”

“Second the motion!” shouted Jerry enthusiastically.

So Mr. Maxwell amiably yielded to the demand.

In the midst of the uproar there entered the delegation that the pianist had warned Jerry to expect. They were six or eight in number, rough young men who had not, like the other guests, arrayed themselves with scrupulous care, and who had been drinking — were, in fact, slightly inebriated. They bunched themselves in the doorway and shouted rapidly in unison: “ Rah, rah, rah, Maxwell!”’

“Jimmy Burns!” cried Maxwell, joyously springing from the piano stool and going forward with outstretched hand. He led the dissipated-looking, unwashed leader of the gang up to Jerry and introduced him as the next member of the Legislature from the district. Jerry hospitably showed the newcomers into the dining-room; the whiskey bottles engaged their interest. Jerry returned to the intellectual center.

“Mr. Maxwell,” he ventured to speak up boldly ina lull; “I’m sure we’d all like to hear you talk on the tariff and the other issues.” |

Maxwell assumed a conventional posture, resting his arm negligently on the mantelpiece.

“Friends,” he said, “I don’t want to talk to you to-night about the tariff; I’d rather take that and similar matters up later in the campaign, on the stump. In this Congressional election I don’t look on the tariff as much of an issue. The important issue for the voters in this Congressional district is the character of the man that’s to represent them in Congress. The all-important thing for this district is to send a man to Congress who stands close to the heart of the people — a man who mixes with you, who sympathizes with your life, who does not hold himself aloof from you and your joys and your sorrows. The man who takes a human interest in his constituents, my friends, is the man who will best serve them. No matter whether he belongs to the Republican Party or to the Democratic Party, the efficient representative must be a democratic man. Now, my friends, in all modesty I wish to contrast myself with my opponent. You know what sort of a man he is — or if you don’t know I can tell you. Rich, prosperous, arrogant — one of the aristocracy. He lives in a big house, he has his automobile and his horses, he wears a fur overcoat. Well — some of the rest of us may have all those advantages. But that does n’t make us hold ourselves aloof. We mix in with the people just the same. But my opponent — he’s one of these silk-stocking politicians. He’s not what we call a ‘mixer.’ You’d never see him coming down here to talk to you fellows this way and having a nice social time with you all. Now, how does it work out — that type of manand my type of man, when we get to legislating? A comparison of our records, made when we served together last year in the State Senate, will enlighten you. During that time I was always accessible to my constituents, always glad to see them and help them, no matter how unimportant or how destitute of influence they might happen to be. During that time I was in a position to grant no less than two hundred and forty-seven favors — and I granted them, every one. I’m only sorry that this district here was n’t included in my Senatorial district, because then some of you boys might have got some of these plums.” | [ 19 ]

There was hearty laughter at this. |

“Or maybe you would n’t have, because I guess most of you were n’t voters then.”

This sly sally was also much appreciated.

** And now, what was my opponent doing in the same time for his constituents? He had as many opportunities as I to grant favors. Did he grant a single one? No. Did he get a single job for the needy? No. Did he take the slightest interest in his constituents or seek to do them the slightest human service? No. They bored him. He denied himself to them if they came to see him. He had no time for the man in trouble. He associated only with the men of his own set. He neglected his constituents; and as he neglected them then, he’ll neglect them if they send him to Washington; and as I served mine then, I'll serve them if they send me to Wasbington. As Congressman I’ll be able to do more favors to my friends than I could as State Senator; don’t you forget it. Now, my friends, when I’m on the stump, I’ll talk tariff and other national issues; but I want to impress it upon you, and I want you to impress it on your friends, that the important issue in this Congressional campaign is the personality of the two men who come before you asking for your votes.”

*“And you'll get ’em!” cried from the dining-room doorway Jimmy Burns. '

** A-ay!’? shouted the crowd, and they clapped and whistled. Pg

Jerry did not at first make any demonstration; then, with a dull idea that his position as host imposed the duty, he feebly clapped his hands.

“Don’t you think it was a corking little speech?” said Dave Scanlan in his ear.

“No,” said Jerry, “I don’t.”

Dave looked at him in amazement; he had great respect for Jerry’s opinion.

“Why not?”

**Oh, I’ll tell you some other time.”

He turned away from Dave; he was really quite miserable. His sensitiveness had rebelled against the unworthy, cheap appeal; his intelligence had detected the fraud; his pride was hurt. It galled him to be told in such plain and insolent terms that Maxwell in coming to his house had performed an act of condescension; it angered Jerry to feel that he alone appreciated the impudence.

At another time he would have been amused by the diversion in which the lanky, crafty-eyed Jimmy Burns and the chunky, red-faced follower known as “ Bill” became engaged. They had temporarily given their attention to doughnuts rather than to whiskey, and were endeavoring now to utilize one of the stout circular confections in a game of ring-toss; they stood several feet apart, and each took turns in trying to circumvent with the missile the other’s gravely upraised forefinger.

“Bill, you wiggled it,’ complained Burns after a failure.

“T did not; you can’t pitch because you can’t stand,” retorted Bill. |

“Can’t stand! I’m standing for the Legislature, my son, and you don’t want to forget it.”

“You for the Legislature! Go on! If you get more than one vote, it’ll be because you’re a repeater.”

** Ah, you’re sore because they handed you the lemon. You thought you was going to run yourself.”

“Ah, crawl under the sink along with the other pipes.”

“Say, does anybody smell gas?” said Burns.

*You first, with your nose above the leak,” replied Bill.

“Your valve’s flappin’; it needs a new washer. Try this.”

Burns slammed the doughnut into his friend’s face.

Bill sprang forward and seizing his assailant by the shoulders propelled him violently backward through the parlor. Too late Jerry perceived the disaster that impended and sprang to avert it. The two went crashing into the corner where hung the memorial dove. Jerry flung them apart and exposed the ruin. ‘The satinsheathed frame was crumpled and broken; the bird lay crushed upon the floor. Jerry said nothing; he stooped and picked it up and carried it from the room. As he bore it up the stairs he caressed it with his hand as if it had been a living, wounded thing. He laid it on his bed and looked at it for a little while; he lifted the torn wing and turned over the crushed body; it seemed to him past mending. Then he went down again to his guests.

Apparently the mishap had quieted them; when Jerry entered, they were gathered about Maxwell listening. Jerry had no longer the eager desire to crowd into the front rank of the speaker’s audience; he stood a little apart, leaning by an open window.

Then, as he caught the drift of Maxwell’s story, his cheeks reddened, his lips set angrily. The young men crowded closer round the narrator, chuckling at intervals, more and more intent. And by the window Jerry’s face darkened and grew stern.

The climax of the tale delighted the gathering. While laughter filled the room, Jerry turned his back ‘and looked out of the open window. Then with a start he leaned out. Two women were hastening away from the house across the grass; and though their backs were turned he recognized them — Nora and his mother.

Jerry faced about and walked up to Maxwell, thrusting his guests unceremoniously aside. He overtopped Maxwell by three inches, and he looked down into the man’s pale face with blazing eyes. Even before he began to speak a hush had fallen upon the company.

* Mr. Maxwell’? — Jerry’s voice was harsh and rasping — ‘my mother washed these curtains, beat this carpet, cleaned and swept this room so that it should be fit and decent for you to come into. And you come here and talk smut — here in my mother’s room. Now get out.”

Maxwell drew back a step. “Oh, look here,” he said appeasingly, and he tried to laugh, “don’t take it so hard. Why, if I’d known —”

“T don’t want to hear one word out of you,” said Jerry inexorably. He addressed the others in a quieter voice. “My mother and a friend —a friend of hers wanted to have a look at this great man that’s been favoring us. They got a look at him — through that window just now while he was telling his story. The man that shames my mother does n’t stay under this roof.”

Maxwell, very pale, shrugged his shoulders and achieved a smile.

“Come along, boys,” he said. “I had no idea this was a Sunday-school class — and I don’t know that I’ve ever before been insulted by my host.”’

No other voice was raised; there was a forbidding look on Jerry’s face. Less than half the company followed Maxwell from the house; the others lingered. There was an awkward silence.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going,” said Dave Scanlan. “Say — I guess you’re all right, Jerry. I’m with you.”

*“So’m I,” muttered sheepishly some of the others. * Good-night, Jerry.”

“ Good-night.”

' When Jerry called at the Driscolls’ for his mother, she looked as if she had been crying. She looked at him with mingled appeal and reproach. He merely said, “They ’ve gone, mother.”

But out of doors he asked abruptly, —

“What did you think of him? I saw you and Nora leaving the window.”

“Oh, Jerry!” She dabbed her handkerchief to her eyes.

‘I kicked him out of the house,” said Jerry, “when I heard that. I’m sorry, mother.”

Then in her joy and contrition that she should ever have doubted her son, she stopped, flung her arms about Jerry, and wept on his breast. A few moments later, ascending the steps of the house she said, —

“And now, Jerry, child, you’re done with politics, I hope?”

“Oh, no,” he answered. “To-night I’ve just begun with politics.”

She paused on the threshold to look at him. There was a new confidence and knowledge in his eyes, in his smile. Then with poignant sorrow and exultant pride she understood; this night she was present at the passing of the boy, the awakening of the man.

Til

A PROFANATION GREATER THAN THAT OF A ROOM SWEPT AND GARNISHED: WHAT THE VOICES OF THE NIGHT SANG TO JERRY

Two nights after the parlor rally, Jerry, according to his custom, was assisting his mother in the drying of the supper dishes. When he had wiped the last saucer, he remarked with an impromptu air, —

“TI guess I'll be going up the road a piece. I told Dave Scanlan I’d see him.” |

“It’s a wonder it’s Dave and not some other in the family you’d be seeing,” replied Mrs. Donohue. “‘ Working with Dave day in, day out, as you are. It’s for him you put on your new tie and your best coat, I suppose.”

*“What’d be the use of teasing me?” said Jerry with a grin. “You don’t think Nora would look at me — after her spying upon me with you the other night and seeing the kind of company I keep.”

“I’m thinking Dave has set her straight upon that. If he has n’t I will.”

“You’re a good creature, but you must not always be so possessed to be helping your son along. Hold up your cheek now, till I give it a smack.” He held it up himself in his two hands and smacked his loudest kiss in the middle of it.

“Go along then with you, and don’t be plaguing the heart out of me,” cried his mother.

Then, when he had gone, she sat down in the parlor in her rocking-chair and rocked and lamented to herself aloud. Grown up he was, indeed, when he was for leaving his mother in the evenings to be going to see the girls. Better that, to be sure, than to be hanging about the saloons. And yet if he could but be contented at home after supper always, forever and ever. She looked at the square clean spot on the wall where the memorial dove, now in the taxidermist’s hands, had hung, and her eyes filled. If only her man Jim had lived.

Meanwhile, Jerry walked briskly up the foggy street. The electric light ahead, caught in a spider-web of mist, glowed like a great moist topaz. The windows in the little wooden houses shone in the wetness and the dankness, all hospitable and pleasant; each one that he passed had an encouraging message for the young man. From the mills at the foot of the town came the heavy, slogging vibration and clang, vibration and clang, that continued without intermission, day and night. Just now it seemed to Jerry a rather cheerful sound; he fancifully translated the beat of it into the adjuration, “Steady that does it. Steady that does it.”

A still more cheerful sound reached him presently and thrilled his heart, for it proceeded from the house towards which his steps were directed, a house planted on a knoll above its neighbors and accessible by means of a zigzag flight of steps. To the accompaniment of a piano a girl’s voice was singing, “ Kathleen Mavourneen”’; at the foot of the steps Jerry stopped and listened. Never, he was sure, had he heard, never would he hear, any one sing more appealingly. His young heart thrilled to the melody, to the vivid picture of the singer with which his imagination presented him — the rich, red cheeks and dark, curling hair and lovely, fluctuant, trilling throat.

He mounted the steps and knocked on the door. It was opened by Nora herself — Nora, with her quick, startled smile. The prettiest girl that Jerry knew, she was also always the best dressed; she wore this evening a white muslin gown with short frilled sleeves, and her hair was banded with a black velvet ribbon. The hand that she gave Jerry was white and soft, the voice with which she greeted him was clear, uncorrupted by the harsh and shrill intonations of the neighborhood. Slender and delicate, she had a round little chin, a sensitive little mouth, a fastidious little nose — all uniting with the flash of her smile and the color in her cheeks to endear her to the young man.

“I heard you from the street, Nora,” he said, “and of course I had to come in.”

“Oh, that was it, was it? I had hopes you’d strolled up to see me on purpose.”

“So Ihad. Nora, you’ve a great way of guessing what I'd be at.”

“It must be because I give it so little thought. I’d be guessing now you’d be at speaking with father and mother; it was just them I was amusing.”

“Keep on with it, keep on with it,” said Jerry. “I shan’t mind.”

He followed Nora into the sitting-room, in the middle of which Michael Scanlan and his wife were occupying an S-shaped “conversation chair.”’ Michael, facing the door, nodded to Jerry in silence; Mrs. Scanlan glanced over her shoulder and remarked, “Oh, it’s you, Jerry,’ in a manner that was distinctly more fretful than welcoming.

But Jerry was not easily dismayed.

“Sure it might be any other creature that was happening to pass along the road. It would be a fine struggle a man would have with himself, not to get drawn in by the sound of Nora’s voice. Now has she sung you ‘The Widow O’Toole,’ Mrs. Scanlan?”

“TI don’t care for Nora to be singing them vulgar songs,” replied Mrs. Scanlan, over her shoulder.

“Oh, now, would you be calling it vulgar!” Jerry exclaimed. “Just a bit of cheerfulness, to my way of ‘thinking. Will you let me see what songs are there, Nora?”

While he stood beside her at the piano, he was aware that her parents watched him with lazy hostility. They were North of Ireland people and Protestants, and the Donohues had come from Cork. But Jerry did not feel very much depressed by the parental antipathy. Nora had a mind of her own, and he ventured to think it was favorably disposed toward him. So he continued to chatter in his lively manner: “There’s ‘Father O’F lynn’; the sight of it makes me almost feel I can sing myself. And ‘ Mulligan’s Musketeers’ — that’s another I can hear inside my head, but I’ve got it safe shut up there; don’t be scared. — You know, Nora, you look fit to sing in grand opera to-night — is n’t it a fact, Mrs. Scanlan?”