I sat reflecting upon my evident cosmopolite and wondering

how the poet had managed to miss him. He was my discovery

and
I believed in him. How was it? 'The men that breed from them they
traffic up and down, but cling to their cities' hem as a child to the mother's
gowno'
N ot so E. Rushmore Coglan. With the whole world for his -
My meditations were interrupted by a tremendous noise and conflict
in another part of the café. I saw above the heads of the seated patrons E.
Rushmore Coglan and a stranger to me engaged in terrific battle. They
fought between the tables like Titans, and glasses crashed, and mcn caught
their hats up and were knocked down, and a bnmette screamed, and a
blonde began to sing 'Teas- ing.'
My cosmopolite was sustaining the pride and reputation of the Earth
when the waiters closed in on both combatants with their famous flying
wedge formation and bore them outside, still resist- ing.
I cai!ed McCarthy, one of tbe French garrons, and asked him the
cause of the conflkt
'The man with the red tie' (that was my cosmopolite), said he, 'got hot
on account of things said about the bum sidewalks and water supply of the
place he come from by the other gny.'
'Why,' said I, bewi1dcred, 'that man is a dtizen of the world - a
cosmopolite. He -'
'Originally from Mattawamkeag, lvlaine, he said,' continuecl
McCarthy, 'and he wouldn't stand forno knockin' th.e place.'

llI

Between Round,ꞏ

THE MAY MOON SHONE RRIGHT upon the prívate boarding-house of

Mrs. Murphy. By reference to the almanac a large amount of territory will
be discovered upon which its rays also fell. Spring was in it., heyday, with
hay fever soon to follow. The parks wcre green with new leaves and
buyers for the Western and Southern trade. Flowers and summer-
resort agents were blowing; the air and answers to Lawson were
growing milder; hand-organs, foun- tains and pinochle were playing
everywhere.
The windows of Mrs. Murphy's boarding-house were open. A group
of boarders were seated on the high stoop upon round, flat mats like
German pancakes.
In one of the second-floor front windows Mrs. McCaskey
awaited her husband. Supper was cooling on the table. Its heat went
into Mrs. McCaskey.
At nine Mr. McCaskey eame. He carried his coat on his arm
and his pipe in his teeth; and he apologized for disturbing the boarders
on the steps as he selected spots of stone between them on which to
set his size 9, width Ds.
As he opened the door of his room he received a surprise. Instead
of the usuai stove-lid or potato-masher for him to dodge, carne only
words.
Mr. McCaskey reckoned that the benign May moon had soft-
ened the breast of his spouse.
'I heard ye,' carne the oral substitutcs for kitchenware. 'Ye
can apollygize to riff-raff of the strects for settin' yer unhandy
fcet on the tails of their frocks, but ye'd walk on the neck of yer wife
the length of a clothes-line without so much as a "Kiss me fut,"
and I'm sure it's that long -from rubberin' out thc windy for ye
and the victuals col<l such as there's money to buy after drinkin'
up yer wages at Gallegher's every Saturday evenin', and the gas
man here twice to-day for his.'
'Woman1' said Mr. McCaskey, dashing his coat and hat upan
a chair, 'the noise of ye is an insult to me appetite. When ye run
clown politeness ye take the mortar from between the bri.cks of
the foundations of society. 'Tis no more than excrcisin' the
acrimony of a gentleman when ye ask the disscnt of ladies blockin'
the way for steppin' between them. Will ye bring the pig's facc of ye
out of the windy and see to the food?'
Mrs. McCaskey arose heavily and went to the stove. There wos
something in her manner that warned Mr. McCaskey. When the
corners of her mouth went clown suddenly Jike a barometer it usually
foretold a fall of crockery and tinware.
'Pig's face, is it?' said Mrs. McCaskey, and hurled a stewpan full
ofbacon and turnips at her lord.
Mr. McCaskcy was no novice at repartee. He knew what should
follow the entree. On the table was a roast sirloin of pork,
gar- nished with shamrocks. He retorted with this, and drew thc
appropriate return of a bread pudding in an earthen dish. A hunk of
Swiss cheese accurately thrown by her husband struck Mrs. McCaskey
below one eye. When she replie<l with a well-aimed coffee-pot full of
a hot, black, semi-fragrant liquid the battle, according to courses,
should have ended.
But Mr. McCaskey was no 50 cent table d'hóter. Let cheap
Bohemians consider coffee the end, if they would. Let them
make
that faux pas. He was foxier still. Finger-bowls were not beyond the
compass of his experience. They were not to be had in the Pension Murphy;
but their equivalent was at hand. Triumphantly he sent the granite-ware
wash-basin at the head of his matrimo- nial adversary. Mrs. McCaskey
dodged in time. Sbe reached for a flat-iron, with which, as a sort of cordial,
she hoped to bring the gastronomical duel to a close. But a loud, wailing
scream down- stairs caused both her and Mr. McCaskey to pause in a sort of
involuntary armistice.
On the sidewalk at the comer of the house Policernan Cleary was
standing with one ear upturned, listening to the crash of household
utensils.
''Tis Jawn McCaskey and his missus at it again,' meditated the
policeman. 'I wonder shall I go up and stop the row. I will not. Manied
folks they are; and few pleasures they have. 'T will not last long. Sure,
they'll have to borrow more dishes to keep it up with.'
And just then carne the loud scream below-stairs, betokening fear or
dire extremity. ' 'Tis probably the cat,' said Policeman Cleary, and
walked hastily in the other direction.
Tbe boarders on the steps were fluttered. Mr. Toomey, an insurance
solicitar by birth and an investigator by profession, went inside to
analyse the scream. He returned with the news that Mrs. Murphy's
little boy Mike was lost. Following the messenger,
out bounced Mrs. Murphy - two hundred pounds in tears and hysterics,
clutching the air and howling to the sky for the loss of thiny pounds of
freckles and mischief. Bathos, truly; but Mr. Toomey sat down at the
side of Miss Purdy, milliner, and their hands carne together in
sympathy. The two old maids, Misses Walsh, who complained every
<lay about the noise in the halls, inquired immediately if anybody had
looked behind the dock.
Major Grigg, who sat by bis fat wife on the top step, arose and
buttoned bis coat. 'The little one lost?' he exclaimed. 'I will scour the city.'
His wife never allowed him out after dark. But now she said: 'Go,
Ludovicl' in a baritone voice. 'Whoever can look upon that mother's
grief without springing to her relief has a heart of stone.' 'Gíve me
sorne thirty or - sixty cents, my love,' said t:he Major. 'Lost children
sometimes stray far. I may need car-fares.'
Old man Denny, hall-room, fourth floor bad, who sat on the lowest
step, trying to read a paper by the street lamp, turned over a page to follow
up the arride about the carpenters' strike. Mrs. Murphy shrieked to the
moon: 'Oh, ar-r-Mike, fr Gawd's sake, where is me little bit av a boy?'
 'When'd ye see him last?' asked old man Denny, with one eye on
the report of the Building Trades League.
'Oh,' wailed Mrs. Murphy, .. ' 'twas yisterday, or maybe four
hours ago! I dunno. But it's lost he is, me little hoy Mike. He was playin'
on the sidewalk only this mornin' - or was it Wednesday? I'm that
busy with work 'tis hard to keep up with dates. But I've looked the
house over from top to cellar, and it's gone he is. Oh, for the love av
Hiven -'
Silent, grim, colossal, the big city has ever stood against its
revilers. They call it hard as iron; they say that no pulse of pity beats
in its bosom; they compare its streets with lonely forests and deserts
of lava. But beneath the hard crust of the lobster is found a delectable
and luscious food. Perhaps a different simile would have been wiser.
Still, nobody should take offence. We would call no one a lobster
without good and sufficient claws.
No calamity so touches the common heart of humanity as <loes
the sttaying of a little child. Their feet are so uncertain and feeble;
the ways are so steep and strange.
Major Griggs hurried down to the comer, and up the avenue into
Billy's place. 'Gimme a rye-high,' he said to the servitor. 'Haven't
seen a bow-legged, dirty-faced little devil of a six-year- old lost
kid around here anywhere, have you?'
Mr. Toomey retained Miss Purdy's hand on the steps. 'Think of
ꞏthat dear little habe,' said Miss Purdy, 'lost from his
mother's side
- perhaps already fallen beneath the iron hoofs of galloping steeds
- oh, isn't it dreadful?'
'Ain't that right?' agreed Mr. Toomey, squeezing her hand. 'Say I
start out and help look for um!'
'Perhaps,' said Miss Purdy, 'you should. But oh, Mr.
Toomey, you are so dash.ing - so reckless - suppose in your
enthusiasm sorne accident should befall you, then what -•
Old man Denny read on about the arbitration agreement, with
one finger on the 1ines.
In the second floor front Mr. ancl Mrs. McCaskey carne to the
window to recover thcir second wind. Mr. McCaskey was
scoop-ꞏ ing turnips out of bis vest with a crooked forefinger, and bis
lady was wiping an eye that the salt of the roast pork had not benefitecl.
They heard the outcry below, and thrust their heads out of the window.
' 'Tis little Mike is lost,' said Mrs. McCaskey in a hushed voice, 'the
beautiful, little, trouble-making angel of a f!Ossoon!'
'The bit of a boy mislaid?' said Mr. McCaskey leaning out of
the window. 'Why, now, that's bad enough, entirely. The childer,
they be different. If 'twas a woman I'd be willin', for they leave peace
behind 'em when they go.'
Disregarding the thrust, Mrs. McCaskey caught her husband's
arm.
'Jawn,' she said sentimentally, 'Missis Murphy's little bye is lost. 'Tis a
great city for losing little boys. Six years old he was. Jawn, 'tis the same age
our little bye would have been if we had had one six years ago.'
'We never <lid,' said Mr. McCaskey1 Iingering with the fact.
'But if we had, Jawn, think what sorrow would be in our hearts
this night, with our little Phclan run away and stolen in the city nowheres
at all.'
'Ye talk foolishness,' said Mr. McCaskey. ' 'Tis Pat he would be
named, after me old father in Cantrim.'
'Ye liel' said Mrs. McCaskey, without anger. 'Me brother was
worth tin dozen bog-ttotting McCaskeys. After him would the bye be
named.' She leaned over the window-sill and looked clown at the
hurrying and bustle below.
']awn,' said Mrs. McCaskey softly, 'l'm sorry I was basty wid
ye.'
' 'Twas hasty puddin', as ye say,' said her husband, 'and hurry- up
turnips and get-a-move-on-ye coffee. 'Twas what ye could call a
quick lunch, ali right, and tell no lie.'
Mrs. McCaskey slipped her arm inside her husband's and took
his rough hand in hers.
'Listen at the cryin' of poor Mrs. Murphy,' she said. ' 'Tis an awful
thing for a bit of a bye to be lost in this great big city. If 'twas our little
Phelan, Jawn, I'd be breakin' me heart.'
Awkwardly Mr. McCaskey withdrew his hand. But he laid it around the
nearing shoulders of his wife.
''Tis foolishness, of course,' said he, roughly, 'but l'd be cut up
sorne meself, if our little •- Pat was kidnapped or anything. But there
never was any childer for us. Sometimes l've been ugly and hard
with ye, Judy. Forget it.'
They leaned together, and looked down at the heart-drama
being acted below.
Long they sat thus. People surged along the sidcwalk, crowding,
questioning, filling the air with rwnours and inconsequent sur- mises.
Mrs. Murphy ploughed back and forth in their midst, líke a soft mountain
down which plunged an audible cataract of tears. Couriers came and went.
Loud voíces and a renewed uproar were raised in front of the
boarding-house.
'What's up now,Judy'' askedMr. McCaskey.
' 'Tis Missis Murphy1s voice,' sa.id Mrs. McCaskey,
harking. 'She says sbe's after finding little Mike asleep behind the
rol! of old linoleum under the bed in her room.'
Mr. McCaskey laughed loudly.
'That's yer Phelan,' he shouted sa1ꞏdonically 'Divil a hit would a Pat
have done that trick if the bye we never had is strayed and stole,
by the powers, call him Phelan, and see him hide out under the bed
like a mangy pup.'
Ñlrs. McCaskey arose heavily, :md went toward the dish doset,
with the corners of her mouth drawn down.
Policeman Cleary carne back around the corner as the crowd
dispersed. Surprised, he upturned an ear toward the McCaskey
apartment where the crash of irons and chinaware and the ríng of
hurled kitchen utensils seemed as loud as before. Policeman Cleary
took out his timepiece.
'By the deported snakes" he exclaimed, 'Jawn McCaskey and his
lady have been fightin' for an hom and a quarter by the watch.
The missis could give him forty pounds weight. Strength to bis arm.'
Policeman Cleary strolled hack around the corner.
Old man Denny folded his paper and hurried up the steps just as
Mrs. Murphy was about to lock the <loor for the night.

IV

The Skylight Room

FIRST MRS. PARKER would show you the doublc parlours. You
would not darc to interrupt her description of their advantages
and of the merits of the gentleman who had occupied them for eight
years. Thcn you would manage to stammer forth 1he confes- sion that
you were neither a doctor nor a dentist. Mrs. Parker's manner of
receiving thc admission was such that you could never afterward
entertain the same feeling toward your parents, who had neglected
to train you up in one of the professions that fitted Mrs. Parker's
parlours.
Next you ascended eme flight of stairs and looked at the
second floor back at $8. Convinced by her second-floor
manner that it