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“Yes, but goils, just pipe the poilies–ain’t they the greatest ever?”

“They sure are. Say, kiddo, gimme one of ’em to remember you by, won’t you? You’ll never miss it–you got a-plenty more.”

“Wot d’ye call wot he’s got on ‘um, anyway?” The speaker was a male, naturally.

“W’y, you big stoopid, can’t you see he’s wearin’ rompers?” The answer came in a giggle, from a gay youthful creature of the opposite sex as she kicked out roguishly.

“Well, then be chee, w’y don’t he romp a little?”

“Give ‘um time, cancher? Don’t you see he’s blowin’ out his flues? He’s busy now. He’ll romp in a minute.”

“Sure he will! We’ll romp with ‘um.”

A waggish young person in white beaded slippers and a green sport skirt broke free from the cavorting ring, and behind Mr. Leary’s back the nimble fingers of the madcap tapped his spinal ornamentations as an instrumentalist taps the stops of an organ; and she chanted a familiar counting game of childhood:

“Rich man–poor man–beggar man–thief–doctor–loiryer—-“

“Sure, he said he was a loiryer.” It was Mr. Cassidy breaking in. “And he said his name was Algernon. Well, I believe the Algernon part–the big A. P. A.”

“Oh, you Algy!”

“Algernon, does your mother know you’re out?”

“T’ree cheers for Algy, the walkin’ comic valentine!”

“Algy, Algy–Oh, you cutey Algy!” These jolly Greenwich Villagers were going to make a song of his name. They did make a song of it, and it was a frolicsome song and pitched to a rollicksome key. Congenial newcomers arrived, pelting down from upstairs whence they had been drawn by the happy rocketing clamour; and they caught spirit and step and tune with the rest and helped manfully to sing it. As one poet hath said, “And now reigned high carnival.” And as another has so aptly phrased it, “There was sound of revelry by night.” And, as the second poet once put it, or might have put it so if so be he didn’t, “And all went merry as a marriage bell.” But when we, adapting the line to our own descriptive usages, now say all went merry we should save out one exception–one whose form alternately was racked by hot flushes of a terrific self-consciousness and by humid gusts of an equally terrific sneezing fit.

VI

“Here, here, here! Cut out the yellin’! D’you want the whole block up out of their beds?” The voice of the personified law, gruff and authoritative, broke in upon the clamour, and the majesty of the law, typified in bulk, with galoshes, ear muffs and woollen gloves on, not to mention the customary uniform of blue and brass, ploughed a path toward the centre of the group.

“‘S all right, Switzer,” gaily replied a hoydenish lassie; she, the same who had begged Mr. Leary for a sea-pearl souvenir. “But just see wot Morrie Cassidy went and found here on the street!”

Patrolman Switzer looked then where she pointed, and could scarce believe his eyes. In his case gleefulness took on a rumbling thunderous form, which shook his being as with an ague and made him to beat himself violently upon his ribs.

“D’ye blame us for carryin’ on, Switzer, when we seen it ourselves?”

“I don’t–and that’s a fact,” Switzer confessed between gurgles. “I wouldn’t a blamed you much if you’d fell down and had a fit.” And then he rocked on his heels, filled with joviality clear down to his rubber soles. Anon, though, he remembered the responsibilities of his position. “Still, at that, and even so,” said he, sobering himself, “enough of a good thing’s enough.” He glared accusingly, yea, condemningly, at the unwitting cause of the quelled commotion.

“Say, what’s the idea, you carousin’ round Noo York City this hour of the night diked up like a Coney Island Maudie Graw? And what’s the idea, you causin’ a boisterous and disorderly crowd to collect? And what’s the idea, you makin’ a disturbance in a vicinity full of decent hard-workin’ people that’s tryin’ to get a little rest? What’s the general idea, anyhow?”