The bride crossed her oxfords and looked thought-
fully at the
distemper Cupids on the ceiling.
"Precious," said she, with the air of Cleopatra
asking Antony for Rome done up in
tissue paper and
delivered at
residence, "I think I would like a peach."
Kid McGarry arose and put on his coat and hat.
He was serious, shaven,
sentimental, and spry.
"All right," said he, as
coolly as though be were
only agreeing to sign articles to fight the
championof England. "I'll step down and cop one out for you
see?"
"Don't be long," said the bride. "I'll be lonesome
without my
naughty boy. Get a nice, ripe one."
After a
series of farewells that would have befitted
an
imminentvoyage to foreign parts, the Kid went
down to the street.
Here he not unreasonably hesitated, for the season
was yet early spring, and there seemed small chance
of wresting
anywhere from those chill streets and
stores the coveted
luscious guerdon of summer's
golden prime.
At the Italian's fruit-stand on the corner be
stopped and cast a
contemptuous eye over the dis-
play of papered oranges, highly polished apples and
wan, sun-hungry bananas.
"Gotta da peach?" asked the Kid in the tongue of
Dante, the lover of lovers.
"Ah, no, - " sighed the vender. "Not for one mont
com-a da peach. Too soon. Gotta da nice-a orange.
Like-a da orange?"
Scornful, the Kid pursued his quest. He entered
the all-night chop-house, cafe, and bowling-alley of
his friend and
admirer, Justus O'Callahan. The
O'Callahan was about in his
institution, looking for
leaks.
"I want it straight," said the Kid to him. "The
old woman has got a hunch that she wants a peach.
Now, if you've got a peach, Cal, get it out quick. I
want it and others like it if you've got 'em in plural
quantities."
"The house is yours," said O'Callahan. "But
there's no peach in it. It's too soon. I don't sup-
pose you could even find 'em at one of the Broadway
joints. That's too bad. When a lady fixes her
mouth for a certain kind of fruit nothing else won't
do. It's too late now to find any of the first-class
fruiterers open. But if you think the missis would
like some nice oranges I've just got a box of fine ones
in that she might."
"Much obliged, Cal. It's a peach proposition
right from the ring of the gong. I'll try further."
The time was nearly
midnight as the Kid walked
down the West-Side avenue. Few stores were open
and such as were practically hooted at the idea of a
peach.
But in her moated flat the bride
confidently awaited
her Persian fruit. A
champion welter-weight not find
a peach? - not
stridetriumphantly over the seasons
and the zodiac and the
almanac to fetch an Amsden's
June or a Georgia cling to his owny-own?
The Kid's eye caught sight of a window that was
lighted and
gorgeous with nature's most entrancing
colors. The light suddenly went out. The Kid
sprinted and caught the fruiterer locking his door.
"Peaches?" said he, with
extreme deliberation.
"Well, no, Sir. Not for three or four weeks yet.
I haven't any idea where you might find some. There
may be a few in town from under the glass, but they'd
be bard to locate. Maybe at one of the more expen-
sive hotels - some place where there's plenty of
money to waste. I've got some very fine oranges,
though - from a shipload that came in to-day."
The Kid lingered on the corner for a moment,
and then set out
briskly toward a pair of green lights
that flanked the steps of a building down a dark
side street.
"Captain around
anywhere?" he asked of the desk
sergeant of the police station.
At that moment the captain came
briskly forward
from the rear. He was in plain clothes and had a
busy air.
"Hello, Kid," he said to the pugilist. "Thought
you were bridal-touring?
"Got back
yesterday. I'm a solid citizen now.
Think I'll take an interest in
municipaldoings. How
would it suit you to get into Denver Dick's place to-
night, Cap?
"Past performances," said the captain, twisting his
moustache. "Denver was closed up two months ago."
"Correct," said the Kid. "Rafferty chased him
out of the Forty-third. He's
running in your pre-
cinct now, and his game's bigger than ever. I'm
down on this gambling business. I can put you
against his game."
"In my precinct?" growled the captain. "Are
you sure, Kid? I'll take it as a favor. Have you
got the entree? How is it to be done?"
"Hammers," said the Kid. "They haven't got
any steel on the doors yet. You'll need ten men.
No, they won't let me in the place. Denver has been
trying to do me. He thought I tipped him off for the
other raid. I didn't, though. You want to hurry.
I've got to get back home. The house is only three
blocks from here."
Before ten minutes had sped the captain with a
dozen men stole with their guide into the
hallway of
a dark and virtuous-looking building in which many
businesses were conducted by day.
"Third floor, rear," said the Kid,
softly. "I'll
lead the way."
Two axemen faced the door that he
pointed out to
them.
"It seems all quiet," said the captain, doubtfully.
"Are you sure your tip is straight?"
"Cut away!" said the Kid. "It's on me if it
ain't."
The axes crashed through the as yet unprotected
door. A blaze of light from within poured through
the smashed panels. The door fell, and the raiders
rang into the room with their guns handy.
The big room was furnished with the gaudy mag-
nificence dear to Denver Dick's
western ideas. Vari-
ous well-patronized games were in progress. About
fifty men who were in the room rushed upon the police
in a grand break for personal liberty. The plain-
clothes men had to do a little club-swinging. More
than half the patrons escaped.
Denver Dick had graced his game with his own
presence that night. He led the rush that was in-
tended to sweep away the smaller body of raiders,
But when be saw the Kid his manner became personal.
Being in the heavyweight class be cast himself joy-
fully upon his slighter enemy, and they rolled down
a
flight of stairs in each others arms. On the land-
ing they separated and arose, and then the Kid was
able to use some of his
professionaltactics, which had
been
useless to him while in the excited
clutch of a
200-pound sporting gentleman who was about to lose
$20,000 worth of paraphernalia.
After vanquishing his
adversary the Kid hurried
upstairs and through the gambling-room into a
smaller
apartment connecting by an
arched doorway.
Here was a long table set with choicest chinaware
and silver, and
lavishly furnished with food of that
expensive and
spectacular sort of which the devotees
of sport are
supposed to be fond. Here again was to
be perceived the
liberal and florid taste of the gen-
tleman with the urban cognomenal prefix.
A No. 10
patent leather shoe protruded a few of
its inches outside the tablecloth along the floor. The
Kid seized this and plucked forth a black man in a
white tie and the garb of a servitor.
"Get up!" commanded the Kid. "Are you in
charge of this free lunch?"
"Yes, sah, I was. Has they done pinched us ag'in,
boss?"
"Looks that way. Listen to me. Are there any
peaches in this layout? If there ain't I'll have to
throw up the sponge."
"There was three dozen, sah, when the game
opened this evenin'; but I
reckon the gentlemen done
eat 'em all up. If you'd like to eat a fust-rate
orange, sah, I kin find you some."
"Get busy," ordered the Kid,
sternly, and move
whatever peach crop you've got quick or there'll be
trouble. If anybody oranges me again to-night, I'll
knock his face off."
The raid on Denver Dick's high-priced and prodi-
gal
luncheon revealed one lone, last peach that had
escaped the epicurean jaws of the followers of
chance. Into the Kid's pocket it went, and that in-
defatigable forager
departed immediately with his
prize. With scarcely a glance at the scene on the
sidewalk below, where the officers were loading their
prisoners into the
patrol wagons, be moved homeward
with long, swift
strides.
His heart was light as be went. So rode the
knights back to Camelot after perils and high deeds
done for their ladies fair. The Kid's lady had com-
manded him and be had obeyed. True, it was but a
peach that she had craved; but it had been no small
deed to glean a peach at
midnight from that wintry
city where yet the February snows lay like iron.
She had asked for a peach; she was his bride; in his
pocket the peach was
warming in his band that held it
for fear that it might fall out and be lost.
On the way the Kid turned in at an all-night drug
store and said to the
spectacled clerk:
"Say, sport, I wish you'd size up this rib of mine
and see if it's broke. I was in a little scrap and
bumped down a
flight or two of stairs."
The
druggist made an examination.
"It isn't broken," was his diagnosis, "but you have
a
bruise there that looks like you'd fallen off the
Flatiron twice."
"That's all right," said the Kid. "Let's have
your clothesbrush, please."
The bride waited in the rosy glow of the pink lamp
shade. The miracles were not all passed away. By
breathing a desire for some slight thing - a flower,
a pomegranate, a - oh, yes, a peach - she could