THE RAGGED EDGE
The Ragged Edge
A Tale of Ward Life & Politics
By
John T. M^cIntyre
First Novel
[Illustration]
Series
[Illustration]
New York
McClure, Phillips & Co.
Mcmii
_Copyright, 1902, by_
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO
Published, September, 1902, R
_To_
Wayne, Andy, George & Lew
THE RAGGED EDGE
Chapter I
“_Arrah, me jewel, sure, Larry’s the boy!_”
OLD SONG.
WEARY horses dragged ponderous trucks homeward; the drivers drooped
upon their high seats and thought of cans of beer; a red sun threw
shafts of light along the cross-town streets and between the rows of
black warehouses.
The porters had all gone for the night from Mason & Sons, and young
Mason stood upon the office step, about to lock the door, when Kerrigan
jumped from a passing car and hailed him.
“I just happened to notice you as I was going by,” Kerrigan said; “and
that reminded me that I wanted to speak to you.”
“Come in and sit down,” said Mason, leading the way into the office.
“I drew up a will the other day in which you were named as executor,”
said Kerrigan, mounting a stool at the bookkeeper’s desk.
Mason looked at him questioningly.
“It’s old Miss Cassidy who kept house for your father, years ago. She
said that she had not spoken to you about the matter, but that she felt
sure that you would consent to act.”
“She’s a queer old soul,” smiled Mason.
“No queerer than the will she had me make for her. Quite a tidy sum of
money, too.”
“She was very saving; and then father thought well of her and advised
her about small investments which were successful. But what induced her
to make a will? Is she ill?”
“She says she is getting old, and thought that the matter should be
settled. By the way, Mason, there are rumours going about the City
Hall that must interest a reformer like you,” and Kerrigan smiled at
his friend. “The Motor Traction Company is endeavouring to secure
possession of Center and Line streets.”
“Do they contemplate purchasing the rights of the new company?”
“Not while there’s a chance to steal them; and from what I’ve heard
during the last few days that has been their object since the time the
injunction was granted against the rival concern.”
The young attorney planted his back against the desk and braced himself
with his elbows. “Let me give you a sketch of the thing,” said he. “The
City Railway Company was duly chartered, secured the franchise from
councils for these two streets and spent thousands of good dollars in
putting down road-bed, rails and all that sort of thing. At this stage
the Motor Company suddenly discovered that Center and Line streets were
arteries that would tap the thickly populated sections, and that the
new company would reduce their earnings.
“Under cover of a protest from citizens living along the line of the
new road, an injunction was gotten out staying all work; the matter was
carried into the courts, where it has been hanging fire ever since.”
“But,” put in Mason, “a decision was rendered in favour of the City
Company less than a week ago.”
“I know that; and in that decision the new move of the Motor people
had its birth. The long delay, the cost of fighting the case and all
that, pretty well drained the resources of the City people, who were
none too rich to begin with. And a time limit was put upon the building
of the line at the time the franchise was granted. The time specified
will shortly expire and the road is but half built. The Motor Company
intends to put unlimited money into the next local election in order to
elect a majority in both branches of councils favourable to revoking
the franchise on the ground of failure to live up to their contract.”
“Why, this is infamous!” exclaimed Mason. “How could the road be built
in the time specified when the courts prevented their working upon it?”
Kerrigan shrugged his shoulders. “The Motor Company want that franchise
and it is not at all particular about how it is gotten.”
The two young men rose and made their way to the sidewalk.
“I understand,” said Mason, as he sprang the catch of the office door,
“when the new company was organized that the stock was mostly taken
up in small lots by small store-keepers and people with accounts in
saving banks.”
“That’s true,” answered Kerrigan; “and that’s what makes the company
easy game.”
A heavy team swung up to the curb and a square-jawed young fellow
climbed down from his seat. A battered, drink-sodden man tremulously
clutched him by the arm and began mumbling incoherently. The teamster
slipped him a nickel and gave him a helpful shove down the street; then
he approached and said to Mason:
“There’s a lot o’ stuff up at Shed B for youse people. Shannon wants t’
know when ye want it hauled.”
“Ah, yes,” replied Mason. “We received the notice late this afternoon.
Tell Shannon to have it here the first thing in the morning.”
“Good enough!” The driver was about to turn away when Kerrigan
exclaimed:
“Hello, Larry! What’s doing?”
“Hello, Johnnie,” greeted the other. “I didn’t know youse.”
“Who’s your friend?” questioned Kerrigan, nodding toward the receding
form of the tramp.
“Oh, just a guy what braced me for a nickel so’s he could hang up his
hat on the inside of a wall. He said it’s been so long since he covered
his stilts wit’ a sheet that he forgets what it feels like.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that I was workin’ this side o’ the street meself. Say,
it’s a big t’ing when a guy kin dig down in his pants an’ produce a
roll that would stop a window; but the minute I run up against a bundle
o’ rags me vest buttons is in danger. Say, Johnnie, was youse ever
strapped?”
Kerrigan confessed that he had been.
“I guess every geezer along the line has done the stunt at some stage
o’ the game. Why, I’ve been so tight on the hooks that I couldn’t tell
the difference between a coon blowin’ a cake walk an’ a gutter band
handin’ out the ‘Dead March in Saul’; an’ if Queen Anne cottages was
sellin’ for a quarter a bunch I couldn’t buy in a cellar window. I tell
youse what it is, Kerrigan, when a guy’s room rent’s six weeks on the
wrong side o’ the ledger an’ his meal ticket wont stan’ for another
hole in it, it’s time for him to start somethin’ doin’, an’ try an’ git
his eyes on a graft what’s got ‘In God we trust’ chalked on its back.
Ain’t that right?”
“A man entirely without money,” said Mason, “is certainly an object for
sympathy.”
Larry gestured his contempt.
“I’d like to deal in that,” said he. “If I could sell it at two bits a
crate I’d make money till youse couldn’t rest. The lobsters what runs
the beanery’s got sympathy to give away; but youse couldn’t coax a beef
stew out o’ the kitchen if ye had a smile like Maude Adams. And the
gent that runs the hock shop keeps it in stock too, but the same guy
wouldn’t lend youse a half a plunk on a pair o’ bags wit’ a hole in ’em
if ye was spittin’ blood.
“Sympathy,” continued the square-jawed young man, “is the cheapest
graft that ever looked over the hill; it’s got every other con game
skinned to death and a guy in a tight pull takes chances o’ breakin’
his neck over it every time he opens his mouth. But, say, on the level,
when a man’s single, an’ on’y got one end to watch he kin pipe up a
breeze if he ain’t dead leary on action; but when he’s got a full hand
o’ kids like me friend Chip Nolan, an’ has to keep leather on their
tootseys an’ their first teeth busy three times a day, he’s got to keep
his t’ink-tank stirrin’ to beat the band, or he’ll look like a last
year’s poster on a broken-down fence.”
He climbed up to his high seat and gathered up the reins.
“Don’t t’ink from this song an’ dance,” said he, “that I’ve ever stood
in line wit’ a yellow ticket an’ a tin can. But, say, as Chip Nolan ’ed
say: ‘Yer on the turf, mate, but youse ain’t under it yet.’ See? Git
’ep, Pete!”