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Davis, Richard Harding, 1864-1916

"Gallegher and Other Stories"

If I only wasn't under
bonds," he muttered, as he slipped down the stairs. "If it wasn't for
that they couldn't give me more'n a month at the most, even knowing
all they do of me. It was only a street fight, anyway, and there was
some there that must have seen him pull his pistol." He stopped at the
top of the first flight of stairs and sat down to wait. He could see
below the top of the open front door, the pavement and a part of the
street beyond, and when he heard the rattle of an approaching cart he
ran on down and then, with an oath, turned and broke up-stairs again.
He had seen the ward detectives standing together on the opposite side
of the street.
"Wot are they doing out a bed at this hour?" he demanded angrily.
"Don't they make trouble enough through the day, without prowling
around before decent people are up? I wonder, now, if they're after
me." He dropped on his knees when he reached the room where the baby
lay, and peered cautiously out of the window at the detectives, who
had been joined by two other men, with whom they were talking
earnestly. Raegen knew the new-comers for two of McGonegal's friends,
and concluded, with a momentary flush of pride and self-importance,
that the detectives were forced to be up at this early hour solely on
his account.


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