When the breakfast was over and the things cleared away I rose to go with many thanks but Mrs. Mulligan wouldn't hear of it. "Ye're a child", she said, "an' don't know New York: it's a terrible place and you must wait till Mike comes home an'—"
"But I must find some place to sleep", I said, "I have money."
"You'll sleep here", she broke in decisively, "and Mike will put ye on yer feet; sure he knows New York like his pocket, an' yer as welcome as the flowers in May, an'—"
What could I do but stay and talk and listen to all sorts of stories about New York, and "toughs" that were "hard cases" and "gunmen" an' "wimmin that were worse—bad scran to them".
In due time Mrs. Mulligan and I had dinner together, and after dinner I got her permission to go into the Park for a walk, but "mind now and be home by six or I'll send Mike after ye", she added laughing. I walked a little way in the Park and then started down town again to the address Jessie had given me near the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a mean street, I thought, but I soon found Jessie's sister's house and went to a nearby restaurant and wrote a little note to my love, that she could show if need be, saying that I proposed to call on the 18th, or two days after the ship we had come in was due to return to Liverpool. After that duty which made it possible for me to hope all sorts of things on the 18th, 19th or 20th, I sauntered over to Fifth Avenue and made my way up town again. At any rate I was spending nothing in my present lodging.
When I returned that night I was presented to Mike: I found him a big, good-looking Irishman who thought his wife a wonder and all she did perfect. "Mary", he said, winking at me, "is one of the best
