"But I have got eight of yours now," said Holcombe.
"That's all right; put it in your pocket," said the Tammany chieftain,
"and smoke it after dinner. You'll need 'em. They're better than those
you'll get on the steamer, and they never went through a
custom-house."
Holcombe cleared his throat in some slight embarrassment. "Is there
anything I can do for you in New York, Meakim?" he asked. "Anybody I
can see, or to whom I can deliver a message?"
"No," said Meakim. "I write pretty often. Don't you worry about me,"
he added, gratefully. "I'll be back there some day myself, when the
law of limitation lets me."
Holcombe laughed. "Well," he said, "I'd be glad to do something for
you if you'd let me know what you'd like."
Meakim put his hands behind his back and puffed meditatively on his
cigar, rolling it between his lips with his tongue. Then he turned it
between his fingers and tossed the ashes over the side of the boat. He
gave a little sigh, and then frowned at having done so. "I'll tell you
what you _can_ do for me, Holcombe," he said, smiling. "Some
night I wish you would go down to Fourteenth Street, some night this
spring, when the boys are sitting out on the steps in front of the
Hall, and just take a drink for me at Ed Lally's; just for luck. Will
you? That's what I'd like to do. I don't know nothing better than
Fourteenth Street of a summer evening, with all the people crowding
into Pastor's on one side of the Hall, and the Third Avenue L cars
running by on the other.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71