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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 champion
of 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


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