Page:Hopkinson Smith--Tom Grogan.djvu/39

 said Lathers, stopping for a last word, his face thrust through the window again. “He's rigged for this business, and Grogan ain't in it with him. If she wants her work done right, she ought to send down something with a mustache.”

Here the song subsided in a prolonged chuckle. McGaw turned, and caught sight of a boy's head, with its mop of black hair thrust through a crownless hat, leaning over a water cask. Lathers turned, too, and instantly lowered his voice. The head ducked out of sight. In the flash glance Babcock caught of the face, he recognized the boy Cully, Patsy's friend, and the driver of the Big Gray. It was evident to Babcock that Cully at that moment was bubbling over with fun. Indeed, this waif of the streets, sometimes called James Finnegan, was seldom known to be otherwise.

“Thet's the wurrst rat in the stables,” said McGaw, his face reddening with anger. “What kin ye do whin ye're a-buckin' ag'in' a lot uv divils loike him?”—speaking through the window to Babcock. “Come out uv thet,” he called to Cully, “or I'll bu'st yer jaw, ye sneakin' rat!”