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8
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M/. H
HERSELF :
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY
HDERSEHJF?
MRS, PATMCK
WJLEY
Tfymantical Tale
BY
DORAN HURLEY
LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.
NEW YORK TORONTO
1939
HERSELF: MRS. PATRICK, CRQWLEY
COPYRIGHT * 1939
BY DORAN HURLEY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THE
RIGHT TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK, OR
ANY PORTION THEREOF, IN ANY FORM
First Edition published 17 March 1939
Reprinted March 1939, October 1939
PUBLISHED SIMULTANEOUSLY IN THE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AND IN THE
DOMINION OF CANADA
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To my Mother ... as always
and to
Mrs. Alice E. Wyman Faulkner, for her faith in me
Miss Floyd Trask, for her great hope for me
and
Miss Margaret A. Flanagan, in whose unbounded
charity
I have been privileged to share
The characters in this book are completely imaginary,
as are the incidents, which have no basis in actual happen-
ings either of today or yesterday. The story is a romanti-
cal tale intended to lie just within the widest bounds of
probability , . . and to have no faintest connection with
realism, at all, at all ... even if it be treason to Mrs. Pat-
rick Crowley to say so.
HERSELF :
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY
CHAPTER I
NLY twice a year in the parish is there a
rush for the afternoon newspaper, and a
quick scanning of the front page. The
President may win huge headlines for
new plans for a more abundant life ; the
sons ot the Son of Heaven may make waste increasingly
larger sections of the gardens of the Flowery King-
dom ; Eden may fall and Clem Attlee rise to power ;
Stalin may shriek "off with his head" until the Union
of Soviet Republics topples like the playing cards in
Alice ; King Zog of Albania and Miss Garbo of Sweden
may announce their engagements on the same day : all
that matters little in the parish.
When the boy hurls the folded newspaper on the
front porch, if the man of the house gets it first, he
turns to the sports page ; if the goodwif e hears its thud,
she turns down the gas on the potatoes boiling for sup-
per, and dashes out for it, that she may have a chance
to look at the death notices while the evening meal is
cooking.
The front page and its headlines, its stories of war
and flood and famine, may well wait until the children
are off to sodality meetings or the movies, and, in the
early evening quiet, a body has a chance to sit down and
rest and take it easy. The sports page, of course, can-
not wait ; the obituaries must be read at the earliest op-
portunity, that a start may be made in outlining the
genealogical tree of the late departed was he one of
the Sullivans from below the hill whose mother was a
2 HERSELF :
Shea, or would he be a cousin of Bat that kept the sa-
loon years ago ?
However, twice a year the front page has its day.
Not a soul in the parish that day but is head over heels
with eagerness to know whether or not a man or woman
known to them has been so fortunate as to draw a horse
in the Irish Sweepstakes. On the days upon which
those announcements appear, sports and death are alike
forgotten in our wishful anxiety to learn if the good
saints or a friendly leprechaun have tumbled our
ticket to the top of the drum in Dublin by Anna Lif-
fey's waters.
It may sound as though we were a parish of gamblers.
God save the mark ; we are not indeed. We have
whist parties and euchres in the parish hall occasionally,
of course, for the fund for the new school, or for the
Maryknoll missioners in China or for Father Sigstein's
Catechists ; but you could hardly call the crocheted
doilies, or the hand-painted china olive dishes, or the
cake trays we win occasions of sin. And one thing the
pastor will not allow is Beano ; for he thinks that that
is altogether too close to playing for stakes to be coun-
tenanced. Nor, when the men of the parish gather to-
gether in Grand Army hall or after hours in Paddy
Dailey's barbershop, or in someone's kitchen, for a
game of Forty-fives, does any money change hands.
Indeed, no. As Ned Meehan said one time, "it's for
the intellectual relaxation of our brains, we play. And
for no other reason at all/'
The Irish Sweepstakes, however, is another thing,
entirely. It is not likely that a man or a woman would
ever pick up seventy-five or a hundred and fifty thou-
sand dollars from the sidewalk, belonging to no one.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 3
There would be little sense in going through life look-
ing and hoping for a thing like that. And we all have
our immediate ancestry and our family connections so
well traced that everyone in the parish knows well that
no one else in the parish is related in any degree of
hopeful expectancy to any of the nabobs of the earth.
We have Bradys, of course, and Ryans and Kelleys ;
but the Ryans and the Kelleys and the Bradys that
'have the money 7 are another breed of cats entirely
from our Tommie Ryan, from Con the Printer, or the
two Brady girls who work down street as milliners.
We all do know, however, that God helps him who
helps himself. Ned Meehan figured it out one day that
it would be a sin a venial sin anyway, if not a mortal
not to take a chance and buy a ticket on each Sweep-
stakes as it comes along. (Ned's brother's boy, Buddy
Whalen, gets six books to dispose of each year. )
In the first place, said Ned, and no one could deny
him, as Irishmen and descendants of Irishmen it was
up to us to help the Irish hospitals. One of the cardi-
nal works of mercy according to the Catechism, said
Ned, is to visit the sick. Who was to know that any
or all of us might not have a fourth cousin in Castle-
townbere or Skibbereen suffering mightily with the
croup, or the rheumatism, or with a bad cough on the
chest ? Visit him we could not, what with the high
steamship rates and a man lucky if he could get three
days' work on the W.P.A. ; but by sending over our
two dollars and a half it might well be the means of a
Visiting Nurse or a doctor, itself, going to see him.
And that, insisted old Ned, would not only be an act
of mercy : it would be an act of charity, as well.
Three things, Ned would say, every man and woman
4 HERSELF :
ought to have, according to holy Catechism : faith,
hope and charity. There was your charity for you, in
helping some poor sick soul in Ireland. It would be a
sin, too, he carefully explained, not to have faith in
God, and hope that He might single you out for one
of the winners. If He wanted you to have all that
money, knowing the good you would, of course, do
with it, the least you could do by way of helping Him
send it to you was to buy a ticket. You would be
five kinds of a fool to sit in your kitchen and expect it
to be dropped down through the ceiling into your lap.
We are good people in the parish, all of us, said Ned ;
but, indeed, we are not good enough for that. A saint,
itself, could hardly count on the like of that happening.
So for years, hopefully, if not exactly expectantly, we
have bought our tickets twice a year ; and have waited,
rather nervously, for our receipts to come back from
Dublin. And, twice a year, we have rushed to see the
front page of the 'paper/ We have never been cast
clown, however, over not once being mentioned, even
for a consolation prize. It is too well ingrained in our
consciousness now, through so many years of depres-
sion and recession, that prosperity is just around the
corner. Our chance, we feel, will come next time.
We are quite happy, indeed, to read that a man with
nine children, on relief, supporting his mother and his
wife's mother, just down to his last handful of oatmeal,
and his wife needing an operation, has drawn Tin-
ker's Dam, the favorite. It just shows, we say sagely,
that it was the will of God that someone worse off than
us had fortune smile upon him. Fortunately for our
complete peace of mind, it seems that neither Mr,
J. Pierpont Morgan nor Mr. John D. Rockefeller have
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 5
yet learned about the Sweepstakes. At least they have
never held a winning ticket. Yet if they had, we could
understand that, too, on the principle we also know so
well, that 'them that has, gets/ We have an adjusta-
ble philosophy in the parish that stands us well, and in
good stead.
You can imagine then how we were, each and every
one of us, man, woman and child and baby in the car-
riage, struck all in a heap when we picked up the paper
that afternoon last March and saw that our own Mrs.
Patrick Crowley had drawn the $150,000 favorite, Bin-
nie Boy, the two to one shot for the Derby.
The news spread through the parish like wildfire.
In no time at all everyone and his brother had heard of
it and were on their front steps, or on the street, or
calling across the fences, discussing Mrs. Crowley's
great windfall. No news ever spread so fast, not even
that of the Armistice, when the Pope's Johnny Sullivan
stroked the Gabriel bell in the church steeple with such
eager frenzy that its clanging reached the farthest ends
of the parish. Young Charlie Casey is our paper boy ;
his route covers the parish ; and Charlie's father is a
first cousin once removed of Mrs. Crowley. Charlie,
of course, got the news early at the Daily Post office.
He could hardly wait then for his allotment of papers
to be counted, before he was out of the pressroom, and
off on his bicycle, streeling for the boundaries of the
parish like another Paul Revere.
More than one woman doing leisurely shopping on
St. Mary's Street was startled to death and frightened
to tears as Charlie came riding pellmell down the
street, shouting at the top of his voice. When he
stopped at Paddy Dailey's barbershop and bellowed
6 HERSELF :
through the door, Paddy, who was cutting Florry Sul-
livan's hair, dropped the clippers, and yelled for every-
one to leave the shop at once, under the impression, he
said afterwards when things had calmed down, that
something terribly dangerous was happening like the
Johnstown flood or the massacre at Drogheda. For
Charlie, pent up as he was with excitement, was a good
deal louder than he was clear.
Before Paddy could barely question him he was off
again, down the street, toppling his bicycle with a crash
before John Riordan's grocery store, and yelling in that
door the same way. He might have gone on indefi-
nitely, and it might have been a good while before any-
one would have calmed down long enough to look at
the Posts he was casting broadside, with a fine disregard
of where they really should go, had not Mrs. Killoran
rounded the corner of Main Street as he stopped at
Will Harding's drugstore. "Hydrophobia" was the
first thing that came into Maria Killoran's mind, as she
saw him shrieking and panting in one and the same
breath. She could make neither head nor tail of what
he was yelling; but she had no mind to let Mary
Casey's boy make a mock and a fool of himself before
the eyes of half the parish. As he went to mount his
bicycle again, she grabbed at his arm, and shook him
firmly.
"Stop that now/' she said, "Is it your head aches
or what ? Here, let me loosen up your collar* Come
in now to the drugstore, and 111 have them 'phone up
for the doctor. What would your mother say for you
to be carrying on like this ?"
Charlie turned toward her a face on which amaze-
ment, excitement, and the contemptuous intolerance
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 7
of youth for age, were scrambled together in a series of
contortions that Mrs. Killoran was certain meant the
beginning of another attack of whatever it was ailed
him. She turned to drag him toward the drugstore
entrance ; but Charlie, despairing of making her under-
stand what he was trying to tell her, thrust one of his
newspapers suddenly before her face.
She dropped his arm as quickly as she had seized it.
There, in bold black headlines before her unbelieving
eyes, was the sensational announcement that Mrs. Pat-
rick Crowley of 549 Division Street had drawn the lucky
ticket on the favorite horse in the Irish Sweepstakes.
"Glory be to God Abbie Crowley I" was all she
could say, over and over again, holding the newspaper
fixedly before her ; until she in turn so frightened young
Charlie, that he dashed into the drugstore and brought
her back a glass of water, with Mr. Harding following
close upon his heels with a vial of spirits of ammonia.
By that time, Paddy Dailey, and Ned Meehan, and
Dinnie the Bow Shea, had come running, down
St. Mary's Street from the barbershop ; and Katie Sul-
livan, Tim's wife, and Jennie Flynn, who had been pric-
ing roasts at Riordan's, were close behind them. A
crowd gathered so quickly about Mrs. Killoran and
young Casey, everyone on tiptoe, craning his head over
his neighbor's shoulder to read the headlines on the
Post that Mrs. Killoran was holding stiffly before her,
that Traffic Cop Dan Sullivan left his post on the run
to dismiss at once what he could only conceive of as
"an unlawful assemblage/ But he became as excited
as the rest when he pushed through the crowd and
saw what was up ; for Mrs. Patrick is Dan's own god-
mother.
8 HERSELF :
"I guy/' said Ned Median to Paddy Dailey, as they
walked slowly back to the barbershop to digest the news
comfortably. "That'd be a nice piece of change for
any man's pocket though, wouldn't it ? I on'y hope it
don't go to her head. Too bad poor Pat didn't live to
see the day they come into all that money. What do
you think shell be doing with it now, I wonder ? She
could never get through the spending of all that money
in the time that's left her. She'll be leaving a good
piece of it behind, that's certain. How do those cous-
ins of hers up at the Immaculate stand in with her ?"
"Sure, she ain't got it yet/' spoke up Paddy Dailey.
"She only got the horse, that's all she have. If the
horse backs down on her, she won't get nothing. You
can't tell with these big racing favorites. They're that
temperamental I used to hear my Uncle Dan tell of
a race he seen on the Curragh, where a tinker's nag
got frightened and ran away right out onto the course,
with the race well started ; and when he see them horses
running ahead of him he lept after them like a deer,
van and all, with pots and pans scattering over the
course like tin hailstones. The jockeys and the train-
ers and the butty boys poured onto the track to stop
him ; but he scattered them like the wind might take
bog cotton. Down the track after the field he went,
lippety-cut like a bat out of Hell. There was some
great horses running that day Ireland's Eye was one
of them that belonged to the Duke of Buccleugh
he was a great horse was Ireland's Eye ; but no matter,
the tinker's pony caught up with him, and passed him,
and passed every other horse in the field ; and from the
heel of the hunt he came in to the post a good five
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 9
perches ahead of the Eye ; and the Eye was by all odds
the favorite.
"That's why, you never can tell. Sure, poor Mrs.
Crowley's horse may develop the heaves or the blind
staggers and never get started at all. Fd rather not
draw any horse like I didn't than to have that hap-
pen. I could never get over a thing like that, myself."
"Glory be, you're very congenial, I must say," said
Dinnie the Bow Shea. "You'd be a Job's comforter
for the poor woman, if there ever was one. Not that
luck runs much in that family at that. You mind the
time she thought she won the pigeen at the Father
Mathew fair and it turned out it wasn't her won it at
all, but Bessie Cleary over at the rectory. I bet the
woman is in a high delirium at this moment with the
shock of it"
As a matter of record, Mrs. Crowley was the last
person of all in the parish to hear of her great good
fortune. Maria Killoran, as her closest friend, with
Katie Sullivan and Mary Ellen Shea, Dinnie's sister,,
went at once to Mrs. Crowley's little cottage to join
with her in her rejoicing, and found she was not at
home. In ordinary circumstances, Maria Killoran would
have taken the key from under the door mat and made
herself at home. It was no more than she would have
expected her friend, Abbie Crowley, to do in a like in-
stance. But as she said to Katie and Mary Ellen, you
would not like it said that you had made yourself too
free with the property of a woman who was practically
an heiress to a fortune. So the three women spread
their handkerchiefs on the steps of Mrs. Crowley's tiny
10 HERSELF :
front stoop, and waited for the wanderer's return.
When Mrs. Killoran, somewhat calmed down ? had
"placed the day as Friday/ 7 she remembered then that
Mrs. Crowley had told her that - on Friday she was
going to take the 'bus, with Aggie Kelly, down to New-
port, to a lecture at the Cenacle. Father Vincent
Donovan, the famous Dominican liturgist, was giving
a talk on "Palestrina and Plain Chant" ; and Aggie,
who used to be our soprano, but now has charge of the
choir at the Polish church, was anxious to pick up stray
ideas from the Father that she could use later on.
The six o'clock 'bus from Newport back to Milling-
ton, on which Mrs. Crowley and Aggie Kelly finally
arrived, passed by the top of Division Street, letting the
two women off a few feet from Mrs. Crowley's own
door, without need of their going in town. Because of
that, neither woman had seen a newspaper, nor were
they in the least aware of all the afternoon's excite-
ment
As soon as Mrs. Crowley's sharp old eyes, however,
saw the delegation sitting on her steps, she knew that
something very terrible had happened.
"The Lord bless us," she said with a gasp to Aggie
Kelly. "Look behind them, do, Aggie, and see if the
house is still standing. I dreamt last night of crossing
water and that's a sure sign of fire. Are the clapboards
scorched, Aggie, or is that just a trick of the sun makes
them look black, there by the bay window ?"
"For Heaven's sakes, Mrs. Crowley/' said Aggie
Kelly, "the house is the way you left it. They probably
just dropped over to see if we were going to Night
Prayers, or to hear about the lecture/'
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 11
The three waiting women were so busy talking that
it was not until Mrs. Crowley had reached her front
gate that they looked up and saw her, fumbling at the
latch with her black-gloved hand.
"Oh, Abbie !" cried Maria Killoran. "Oh, Abbie
Crowley I"
"Oh, Mrs. Crowley," echoed Kate Sullivan. "Oh,
Aggie, does she know ?"
Mary Shea went to speak but the excitement was too
great for her. "Oh, dear . . ." she began, and burst
into nervous weeping.
"What's happened . . . what's wrong? What ails
you, what's wrong ?" the words burst tumblingly from
Mrs. Crowley's lips. "Maria, answer me . . . who's
dead? Don't spare me now. If someone's dead I
want to know it. What's happened . . . what's
wrong ?"
"Oh, Abbie, don't you know a thing about it ?" asked
Mrs. Killoran in a tone so wandering that Mrs. Crow-
ley stared at her in greater astonishment than before.
"I do not," snapped Mrs. Crowley, "and neither
does Aggie here. Is it too much to ask that you tell
the two of us, instead of sitting there frightening the
heart of me up to my mouth and out of it ?"
"Oh, dear," sobbed Mary Ellen Shea, again. Mrs.
Killoran looked helplessly from Mary to Mrs. Crowley,
not quite able to make up her mind whether to com-
fort the one or reassure the other. Katie Sullivan, in
the meantime, afraid to trust herself to speech, was
holding up the newspaper before her, the startling
headlines turned outward that Mrs. Crowley and Ag-
gie Kelly might read the great news for themselves ;
12 HERSELF :
but all she managed to convey to the two amazed
women standing before her was that like an ostrich
she was hiding her head in the face of some horrible
catastrophe.
"Come you out from behind that paper, Kate Sulli-
van/' insisted Mrs. Crowley sharply, "and give me a
plain answer. Have the whole lot of you gone mad ?"
Mrs. Sullivan merely shook the paper before her,
holding it as high before Mrs. Crowley's face as she
could. Aggie Kelly's eyes finally caught the headlines
and read their import. She in turn gave a cry that
was half a gasp and half a squeal.
"Mrs. Crowley/' she stuttered, "the-the-the p-paper,
th-there !"
Mrs. Patrick Crowley, directing a look of scorn and
disdain at her companions that, if Marie Antoinette
had had the gift of it, would have sent the knitting
women of Paris running home for dear life from the
guillotine, reached a firm arm out from her cape, and
took the newspaper from Kate Sullivan's shaking
fingers. She read the headlines over, briefly, her face
unchanging. She looked about her witheringly when
she had finished.
"And for that/' she said caustically, "you'd frighten
a body out of a year's growth ! Reach your hand along
the floor there, Kate Sullivan, and get the key from out
under the mat. It will save me stooping. And I
won't have any more of such goings-on right out here
in full view of all the neighbors ! I declare, I don't
know what they'll be thinking of me ! Here, give
me the key, and come in the whole lot of you. Stop
your bawling, Mary Shea ! Aggie ? you know where
I keep my kettle. Put on the water for tea, while I
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 13
get my breath, and make these gomerals behave them-
selves/'
Over the hot cups of tea, the newspaper's startling
information was discussed from every possible angle.
Mrs. Crowley alone seemed to take the news calmly.
"If I get it/ 7 she answered every inquiry that was put
to her, "I'm sure I can find good use for it. But I
never expected it and I never looked for it ; and I re-
fuse to get excited at this late date over anything that
flew down, as you might say, out of the sky/'
"I suppose you'll be giving up this house and be
leaving us all," said Mary Shea quaveringly. "I'm sure
well all miss you, Mrs. Crowley ; but I suppose it is to
Newport and Palm Beach you'll be going now. I'm
sure I don't blame you."
"Leave this house ?" answered Mrs. Crowley. "Then
Pll not leave this house. If this house was good
enough for my father, Lord rest him, to entertain John
Boyle O'Reilly and James Jeffrey Roche at dinner both
at the one and the same time, and in this same dining-
room, then I guess it's good enough for his daughter.
Have more sense, Mary Ellen !"
"But what will you do with all that money, Mrs.
Crowley ?" asked Aggie Kelly. "It will be an awful
responsibility."
"I never shirked a responsibility, and you all know
it. I was never one to shirk anything, no matter what
it was. That's something no one could ever say about
me. If the Lord has seen fit to put this cross on me,
indeed I'll not shirk it."
"Musha, you have a very strange idea of what con-
stitutes a 'cross,' " Maria Killoran had regained her
usual quiet humorous serenity. "There' d be more
i 4 HERSELF :
than one person eager and anxious to lift a 'cross' like
that off your back, Abbie Crowley, and you wouldn't
have to go far, nor search long, to find him/ 7
"Then, it's little attention you have been paying to
the Gospel on Sundays, Maria Killoran," Mrs. Crowley
answered tartly, drawing herself up with great dignity.
"Or you might remember about the camel and the
needle's eye. A cross it is, I say, at my time of life,
when all Fm looking for is the grace of a happy death,
to have to worry about my chances for Heaven/'
"Oh, dear/' emotion again swayed Mary Shea and
sad tears began to trickle down her face. "Ill double
my prayers to Saint Joseph for you, Mrs. Crowley, if
you think it will help/'
"For Heaven's sakes," Agnes Kelly broke in sharply,
"have more sense, Mary ; and you, too, Abbie. If you
really believe that foolish notion that having that much
money is going to keep you out of Heaven, for good-
ness' sakes give it away, give it to the nuns or the mis-
sions. But you haven't got it yet, you know. It's a
little early to be counting your chickens ; they're not
hatched yet."
"What do you mean by that, Agnes Kelly ?" Mrs.
Patrick Crowley, affronted, spoke with lofty coldness.
"Of course I have it. The paper said so, I may not
have the money in my lap at this very minute/' she
said with chill sarcasm, "but it's on the way. The pa-
per wouldn't lie. You all read it in plain black and
white one hundred and fifty thousand dollars and
my name/'
"If. If - your horse wins. All you've done, Abbie,
is to draw a likely horse. If that horse wins the race
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 15
if, I say then you get the money. If he doesn't
win then, you're out of luck/'
"I might of known there was a catch to it," said Mrs.
Crowley, after a moment's reflection. "I thought it
was too good to be true to be handed all that money,
and no strings to it Then, why on earth did you
make such a fuss there at the gate, if you knew that it
was all a great bluff ? Katie gasping like a fish, and
Mary Ellen bawling, and Maria sitting there like a big
gom not able to speak . . . and all the time I had won
nothing at all but the name of a horse ! What good
is the name of a horse to me ? Tell me that, now."
"Abbie," Maria Killoran began pacifically as she saw
Aggie Kelly's mouth twitch impatiently, "Abbie, you
still have every chance in the world to win the money.
Your horse is the favorite. He stands to win. Paddy
Dailey said so, and Will Harding . . . and they're
men. They ought to know."
"I never had much use for 'favorites/ " Mrs. Crow-
ley sniffed contemptuously ; "it's the steady one in a
family, and not the favorite always makes out, as far
as I've seen ; and I've seen a good deal in my day. I'll
bet that horse of mine is very badly spoiled if he's such
a favorite. I suppose he wouldn't even give me a run
for my money unless I sent him a barrel of apples or a
five-pound box of candy. Well, indeed, he'll get no
candy nor apples from me. He'll go in there and take
his chances with the rest of the horses. I don't believe
in playing favorites."
"Honestly, Abbie, to hear you talk," said Aggie,
"you'd think the poor horse had done you some harm.
You'd think you had a personal grudge against him,"
16 HERSELF :
"He's done me no good yet, anyway. Ill say that
much for him, frightening the life out of me and giving
me cause to worry about whether I'll go off in the night
and have a camel's chance at Heaven, or be able to have
the priest before I die. I've nothing against the horse,
mind you. I don't know him at all ; I never laid eyes
on him, and he wouldn't know me if he met me on the
street ; but I don't like the idea of a spoiled horse hav-
ing the chance to waste all that good money. Money
is too hard to come by these days/'
"Abbie, he is not a spoiled horse. 'Favorite' means
that he is favored to win ; he has the most likely chance
because he is such a fast runner ; that's all "favorite'
means/'
"I'm glad then he's a good runner/' Mrs. Crowley
digested that bit of news satisfiedly. "I wouldn't like to
have my name on any horse that wasn't up to the mark.
I wouldn't like that. I've always held my head too
high to have a horse shame me. I'd like to have a
horse that made a good try at winning. I wouldn't
blame him if he lost to a better horse ; but Fd hate to
have that Queen Mary looking on and sneering down,
her nose at the Irish and turning around and giving the
laugh to a lot of duchesses at a horse with the name of
Mrs. Patrick Crowley making no kind of a show at all/'
"You and Queen Mary !" said Aggie Kelly scorn-
fully. "The name of the hors^as a matter of fact, Ab-
bie, is Binnie Boy. It's only in connection with the
Sweepstakes that your name is on him at all A lot
Queen Mary will ever know about you/'
"She might be glad to know me if I had one hundred
and fifty thousand dollars, indeed/' Mrs, Patrick gave
spirited answer, "though not that Fd ever go out of
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 17
my way to give her any more than a cold nod and a
bow. But Binnie Boy, you say, is the name of my
horse ? Well, that's a lovely good name. Haven't I
niy good little chum Binnie McCarthy down the street,
the tenderest, darlingest child I ever hope to lay eyes
on ... a little saint, I'm sure ? Then, indeed, it's a
good omen for the horse to have that name. He
couldn't help but bring me luck."
"Well, Pm glad that much satisfies you/' Aggie said.
"That's a help to me, anyway."
"Is there a patron saint of horse racing ?" piped up
Mary Ellen Shea thoughtfully. "If there was, I thought
I might say a few prayers to him."
"I wonder would there be ?" Mrs. Crowley turned
about the group eagerly. "Not for the racing, of
course, for I think that's gambling ; but for the running
of the horses, which wouldn't be at all, for it's their
nature to run."
"Hmnh," Agnes Kelly answered, "the only one that
comes to my mind at the moment is Saint George.
He's always pictured riding on a horse."
"Then if he's the one, you'll say no prayers to him,
Mary Ellen," Mrs. Crowley said firmly. "I'll have no
prayers going up for me to a saint as English as the
likes of him. Not if my horse was to run backwards
without them."
"I won't sleep a wink, I won't be able to close my
eyes, I know, until the race is run and won," Mary
Shea shook her head forlornly. "And, goodness knows,
I suppose it will be even worse for you, Mrs. Crowley/'
"Then, indeed, I'll lose no sleep over it," said that
doughty individual at once. "Not an ounce of sleep
will I lose. That's one thing I'm thankful for I can
i8 HERSELF :
drop off to sleep the minute my head hits the pillow
so long/' she added cautiously, "as Fm in my own bed
and on my own good hair mattress/ 7
"It's the horse will be losing sleep/' Aggie Kelly
said humorously, "if he ever learns what a responsibility
he's carrying. Now you've finally made up your mind
you're going to win the money, Abbie, Fd hate to be
in the horse's place if he falls down on you."
"You make me out a terrible tyrant/' Mrs. Crowley
answered, "and that's far from the truth. Fd never
be hard on a horse, nor a man for that matter, so long
as they tried. But what I was wondering I wonder
if any of you happened to hear what color of horse
is he? That might make a deal of difference, you
know/'
"In what way, pray tell ?" asked Aggie, pertly.
"Dear me, I hope he's a lucky color," quavered Mary
Ellen.
"He'll be "a horse of a different color/ as they say, if
he ever disappoints us/' chuckled Maria Killoran softly,
Mrs. Patrick Crowley elucidated the importance of
the horse's color very carefully. "Fm a good bit older
than any of you/' she said, "and I doubt if even Maria,
who's next me in age of us all, remembers, but/' she
spoke firmly, "but when I was younger, I had red
hair."
"And I suppose you hope the horse has red hair.
What an idea a red-headed horse," chortled Aggie.
"No such thing," Mrs. Crowley retorted, "but you
know as well as I do whenever you see a white horse on
the street you can tarn around and see a man or a
woman with red hair."
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 19
'That's right/' Mary Ellen agreed. "We always
knew that as kids. It never fails/'
"So/' Mrs. Crowley continued triumphantly, "I
should think a white horse would have a greater kin-
ship for red hair. And, white as mine is now, it was
red once, bright red not even auburn. That's where
I get my bit of a temper," she added blandly.
"If Reverend Mother could ever hear you !" said
Aggie. "I never knew you before to take such stock
in those old pishogues. If it comes to that, it's a white
horse your friend, St. George, is always pictured rid-
ing. I should think that fact alone might make you
look on him more kindly."
"I was only talking," Mrs. Crowley retreated hast-
ily, for she never acknowledged defeat. "I think," she
changed the subject quickly, "if I should get that
money, I'll have this room papered. I could afford it."
"You could afford to paper it with dollar bills. Af-
ford it /"
"Then I'd not be so foolish, Agnes Kelly. Dollar
bills, indeed. Yes, and I might get a new bonnet. I
could afford that, too."
"Well, your old one will do for now. Put it on, and
hurry up," said Mrs. Killoran, shrugging herself into her
coat.
"But where are you off to in such a hurry ?" asked
Mrs. Crowley her money-spending reveries sc rudely
broken into.
"To night prayers, of course," responded Agnes
Kelly, lifting her own coat from a chair. "Don't tell
us now you're a horse racer and a near heiress you're
going to give up the Church."
20 HERSELF
"It clean slipped my mind that it was going on
towards time for church/' Mrs. Patrick Crowley an-
swered humbly. "And I haven't missed night prayers
for fifty years. I told you/' she said fiercely, "that
money will be more than a cross to me yet/'
"You'll have the time of your life with it, Abbie/'
Maria Killoran pressed her arm fondly as they went
down the outer steps.
"Do you think so, Maria/' Mrs. Patrick Crowley an-
swered as tenderly, brightening at once. "Then well
have the time of our lives together."
CHAPTER II
WAS a source of nine days' wonder,
of course, in the parish, that Mrs. Crow-
ley had drawn the most prized horse in
the Irish lottery; but not a soul be-
grudged Mrs. Patrick her great good for-
tune. The slight twinges of regret we all experienced
that our own tickets had very evidently fallen to the
bottom of the drum were over and forgotten in a mo-
ment. We accepted our disappointment in good
grace. At least, we said to each other, the hand of
luck fell on the shoulder of someone we all knew well,
instead of on some foreigner that nobody ever heard
of, who might only drink the money away, or take to
loose and fast living.
Nothing of that sort, we knew, would ever be writ-
ten by St. Peter on the page reserved for the words and
acts of Mrs. Patrick Crowley. If anyone deserved the
smile of good fortune, we agreed, it was she ; and if
there was anyone better fitted for the judicious han-
dling of such an enormous pile of money, then we had
never heard tell of him. Mrs. Crowley, we felt, not
only could, but would, do a great deal of good with a
fortune like that. It would not be the likes of her
would play ducks and drakes with it, we nodded to
each other sagely ; for every penny she spent, she would
get a penny and a half value ; for every penny she gave
away, St. Peter would have to reach for the shining
gold ink to record it. We knew our Mrs. Patrick
Crowley.
21
22 HERSELF :
Why should we not ? For fifty years or more, she
has been the mentor, the arbiter and the lay authority
of the parish. What she does not know about the
Church there are very few men know, no matter if they
are high theologians. At a Solemn High Mass or at a
Pontifical Mass, we were never caught napping in our
church as happens sometimes in other parishes. We
knelt or stood or sat, the very second we saw Mrs,
Crowley's black bonnet move ; and we were never
wrong. If a question arose as to whether a Monsignor
was higher in rank than a Permanent Pastor, or just
how the Brigittine beads differed from our own horn
rosaries, it was never necessary to put the matter be-
fore Father Will. Mrs. Crowley we knew would have
the right answer on the tip of her tongue.
And as president of the Altar and Rosary Sodality
for the last forty odd years, it has been due to her
efforts alone that, on Holy Thursday or at Forty Hours,
our parish church has been the foremost in the diocese
in the beauty of our Altar of Repose. No florist has
ever been able to do the things with red roses and white
lilies that Mrs. Crowley has done. Nor has any church
in the diocese altar linens as fine as ours her handi-
work, for she has great skill with the needle. The
antependium that Father Will uses on great feast days,
of lace so fine it would pass through a wedding ring,
was wrought by Mrs. Crowley r s bobbins. Sister Mary
Columbcille at the Convent, who had learned how to
make the cobweb Carrickmacross lace as a girl in Kil-
larney, taught Mrs. Patrick, and found her an apt pu-
pil. Sister used to say laughingly afterward that she
always thought she was pretty good at the lace-making
herself, but that compared to Mrs. Crowley, once she
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 23
got her hand in, she had to take a back seat. The pu-
pil could soon instruct the mistress.
Another thing. It seemed to us altogether fitting
that the money prize of the world should come to Mrs.
Crowley from Ireland. Not a man in the United
States be he John Devoy or Patrick Ford had
worked so zealously in Ireland's cause as she. Her
father had been the friend of John Boyle O'Reilly,
of John Mitchel and Michael Davitt ; and in his day a
Fenian. Mrs. Crowley was her father's daughter. As
a young woman she had ardently enlisted to raise funds
for the Land League ; as a matron she had prayed for
the success of John Redmond and Home Rule ; in her
age when the tri-color of the Republic was raised above
Dublin Post Office in Easter Week of 1916 her Irish
blood flamed with new fire.
"Characteristic of your impudence" is an expression
we have in the Old Parish. It was altogether charac-
teristic of the impudence or the independence of
Mrs. Crowley that when dissension arose among the
Friends of Irish Freedom, the first society organized to
aid the rebels, and those who believed implicitly in
Mr. De Valera withdrew to form the American Asso-
ciation for the Recognition of the Irish Republic, she
joined the new society and kept her membership in
the old. In vain did Manus Murphy, president of the
Friends, and Terence Lowney, head of the Millington
council of the A.A. R.I.R., try to convince her of the
inconsistency of belonging jointly to two organizations
opposed to each other in fact, if not in principle. She
waved aside their objections and told them bluntly
that she had no use for petty politics. It was not the
societies she was interested in, but in the freedom of
24 HERSELF :
Ireland ; if Ireland's weal could be helped by either
group, then she wanted to be on hand and intended
to be on hand to assist in the helping.
"Barring only the A.P.A/s and the Orangemen/' she
said to Manus tartly, "I'd join any society at all if I
thought good for Ireland would come out of it. Fd
join the Boadicea lodge of the Daughters of St. George,
itself, if I thought they'd give me a chance to tell them
what I think of the murderous ruffians their own peo-
ple are letting loose in holy Ireland, Wisha, Manus,
what are you talking about ? The two societies are a
deal better than one. The paper now has to report
each of your meetings. Don't you see, you're giving
those Black and Tans double the bad name. The more
power to you both/'
When the American Red Cross, on the grounds that
it meant interference in the territory of a friendly
power, refused to send aid to the villages 'destroyed
by the Black and Tans, and the Irish White Cross was
organized to raise money for that purpose, the Milling-
ton quota was tremendously oversubscribed. Our old
Bishop, as honorary chairman of the Millington Chap-
ter, asked Mrs. Crowley to head the drive. "It was
as much as your life was worth," as Ned Mcehan
chuckled admiringly afterward, "not to give her twice
what you could afford, and five times what you in-
tended."
Not a canvasser on her committee brought in a
tenth of the money she did. We of the Old Parish,
of course, gave to her unstintingly ; but our poor bit
would not have totalled up very high. We were
richer in heart than in purse. It was from men and
women of other than Irish blood that Mrs. Crowley
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 25
gained her richest contributions. Her good friends,
little Father Krasnowski of Our Lady of Cracow
church, and shy Father Silva of the Portuguese church
of Ecce Homo, set aside a special Sunday collection
for her; and her other devoted friend, Mr. Rubino-
vitch Jake the Tailor on Main Street spoke so elo-
quently for her at a meeting of the B'Nai Brith that
the members immediately voted fifty dollars toward
the relief of suffering in Ireland. She invaded too the
sacred Brahmin precincts of the Massasoit Club our
city's equivalent of the Union League on an evening
when the millmen of the city were giving old Colonel
Manley an anniversary dinner to celebrate his fiftieth
year as treasurer of the Passaquog Bleachery ; and
turned the dinner into a rally for the victims of the
Black and Tans. We could hardly believe that when
we heard it, first ; but she did in truth leave the ban-
quet hall with her black handbag so stuffed with
cheques and greenbacks that she told Maria Killoran
she had to carry her Rosary pushed into the palm
of her glove.
If I seem to be drawing for you a picture of an in-
domitable Irish woman living in a foreign state but
working only for her native land, then erase it at once.
The sooner such an image leaves your mind ? the better.
Mrs. Patrick Crowley, born Abigail MacMahan some
seventy odd years ago in Millington, Massachusetts, is,
first, last and always, American to the core. Indeed, in
personal appearance there is much more of what we
call "the proper Yankee" about her than there is of
her Irish ancestry. Nor will she consent willingly to
the term "Irish-American." She is, she will tell you
firmly, an American of Irish race and blood ; as Charles
26 HERSELF :
Carroll was, and John Barry, General Phil Sheridan
and Meagher of the Sword, Andrew Jackson and Wil-
liam McKinley and Woodrow Wilson. When Wil-
son at Versailles omitted Ireland from his list of "small
nations" to whom freedom was to be awarded, Mrs.
Crowley was very bitter against him. Calling him a
"Cromwellian" somewhat assuaged her feelings ; but
admit that he was "Scotch-Irish 77 she would not, A
man might be Irish or he might be Scotch but for those
benighted ones who claimed the double, hyphenated
allegiance she had all the scorn of James Jeffrey Roche,
her father's friend, whose lines she would quote, "For
they say they are not Irish. And God knows they are
not Scot"
It was really her known forthright Americanism that^
won her a hearing at the Massasoit Club. Old Colonel
Manley was commander then of the Millington Post
of the Grand Army of the Republic, and Mrs. Crowley
was an earnest worker in the Women's Relief Corps.
Her father, you see, had served throughout the War in
the Ninth Massachusetts Regiment the Irish Ninth ;
and Patrick Crowley, for whom she still wore the bon-
net and crepe-banded veil of a widow, as a drummer
boy in Company I, Fourth Regiment, Rhode Island
Volunteers had had three fingers on his right hand
shot away at Antietamu More than that, her boy Der-
mot, her only child, had died in the War with Spain.
The old colonel, when she had sent a message in to
the banquet hall to him, came to her at once ; and after
she had explained her errand, led her with old world
courtliness into the hall to a place beside him at the
head of the table. The rest of it was easy, she con-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 27
fided to the admiring Maria Killoran the next day over
a cup of tea in Mrs. Crowley's spotless kitchen.
"Dearie me," said Maria shaking her head, "I never
saw such a one for getting what they go after. But
you certainly had your nerve with you to go barging in
to a crowd like that, and on such an errand. And all
men, too. I would have died of shame if I got so far
as the door. I never saw the beat of you, Abbie, I
must say."
Mrs. Crowley tossed her head. 'Indeed, they didn't
faze me one bit, even if they were men, and rich ones
at that. I just spoke to them very plain just as Fd
talk to anybody.
"This is what I told them. I told them this : that I
was a firm believer in the self-determination of small
nations, and a firm believer as well in democracy. My
Pat I told them was there at Gettysburg battle-
field the day President Lincoln spoke for government
of the people, by the people and for the people/ It
was up to us, as Americans, to help any country that
was trying desperately to establish a republic, to win
freedom from oppression.
"I was all for the Poles I said when they were
able to start up their country again ; and the Checko-
Slovaks and the Lithuanians and the Finns. The more
power to them ! Then why wouldn't I be for my own
father's and mother's people, and want to see them
free?
"Blood is thicker than water, I told them, and I
looked down the table until I caught Andrew Wiley's
eye. He owns the ropeworks and is way up in the
Presbyterians, and I don't know how many fourth de-
28 HERSELF :
grees he has in the Masons ; but you wouldn't know
this, Maria, but I know it his mother came from the
same place, Armagh, as my father. They were fellow
'townies.' So I gave him a firm nod, and I gave an-
other nod to Silas McPartland, whose father was Irish
even if he did dig with the left foot. I let them
know that I knew that they were as Irish as myself.
It was up to them then to prove themselves as good
Americans.
"What is more I said when the D.A.R. and the
Junior League had been around collecting for the starv-
ing Armenians and the Belgian orphans, the Irish peo-
ple of the city had contributed generously and well.
Now their kinfolk were in need, and the shoe was on
the other foot. I expected equal generosity now we
were doing the collecting/'
"Your tongue will run away with you yet," said
Maria, but there was wholehearted admiration and ap-
proval in her voice.
"What's the use of a tongue if you don't know
enough to use it?' 7 retorted Mrs. Crowley compla-
cently. "And that wasn't all I said. I told them they
could rest assured that the money would not be wasted,
that every cent would be used to good purpose. The
Quakers were to have the administering of the White
Cross funds ; and I, for one, looked up to the Quakers
as I did to the Salvation Army as noble, grand good
people.
"I said that on purpose, Maria, for down at the end
of the table I saw old Henry Davis that's president of
the bank squinting up at me. You know, they say he's
the biggest skin-flint in town, as tight as a tick and as
close as they come, for all that he's simply rolling in
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 29
money. I could see him pursing his lips and screwing
up his eyes, and I was deadly afraid that if he thought
he was in danger of giving up as much as a three-penny
bit he would put up such a holler that he'd take the
wind out of my sails, and Yd lose out on the rest of
them.
" 'Kind father to you, Henry/ I said to myself, 111
put a spoke in your wheel in case that's what you're up
to/ So as smooth as cream I smiled down the table
at him, and I said, 'Mr. Davis will understand well
when I say that it is part of the heritage of those of
Irish blood even here in Millington to love and cherish
the good Friends. My father told me often that years
ago, when the Asiatic cholera swept the city, Mr. Davis'
father Friend Davis, my father called him always
and our own priest, Father Sullivan, worked side by
side, hour upon hour and day upon day, nursing and
tending those stricken by the fever. I know very well
that if Friend Davis were alive today he would be the
first in all the Society of Friends to volunteer for serv-
ice to the suffering in Ireland.'
"Maria, when it came time for me to go, that man
gave me a cheque for a thousand dollars. He came up
to the head of the table with it, and drew me aside to
tell me that when Father Sullivan used to call for his
father to make their rounds he would promise Henry
who was only three then, he said a big bag of
lemon drops and sugar sticks, if he would be a good
boy and mind his mother while his father was away
from the house. And when the cholera had passed,
he said Father Sullivan redeemed his promise, and
brought him the biggest sugar sticks he could find in
town. What do you think of that now ?"
30 HERSELF :
"WelI 7 my goodness/' said Maria, "Did you ever
. . . ? Just think of that I"
"Well, then/ 7 continued Mrs. Crowley, delighted at
the mild sensation she was making, "I told him right
back that I used to remember seeing his mother when
I was a little girl. She wore what they call the 'plain
dress/ you know, that Quakers used to wear. You see
- it in pictures like a uniform.
"That was before the Sisters came to Millington,
Maria, mind. When they did come when Father
Sullivan brought the nuns, the Ladies of Mercy were
the first order we had, and when I met old Mother
Mechtilde for the first time I spoke up and asked her if
she was a Friend like Mrs, Davis. She laughed and
said she hoped that I would consider her a friend
always ; but that wasn't what I meant. It was on ac-
count of the habit. I thought she was wearing the
'plain garb/ too. Well, when I told Mr. Davis that,
what do you think? He asked me to drop by the
bank some day I was down town. He said he had a
little miniature of his mother on his desk in the Quaker
dress and he'd love to show it to me. Maria, he was
simply lovely they all were."
You cannot possibly wonder then that with her
record of service in the cause of Ireland and her years
of faithful labor among us, for our parish and our
Church and our individual well-being, we were not all
happy that Mrs. Patrick Crowley was receiving great
material reward at last. Indeed we were ; we were
tickled to death and the more power to her.
Tart, peppery and quick-tongued as she could be at
times, independent and individual to the very core, we
loved her for all that. Not with the same warm affec-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 31
tion, perhaps, that we had for Maria Killoran's gentle
serenity of heart ; nevertheless we loved Mrs. Patrick
Crowley. And we respected her mightily.
If you know anything at all about the Irish Sweep-
stakes, you must know that in the period between the
drawing of the lottery and the running of the race that
is to decide the result of the Sweep, those who hold
tickets on the favorite horses are besieged by offers to
buy their chances. Syndicates have been formed for
just such purposes and their agents are shrewdly active
in trying to convince ticket holders that the proverbial
bird in the hand is worth two in the bush ; that it would
be much better to sell the lucky ticket ahead of the race
for fifty thousand dollars and be sure of that money,
than to risk losing the full hundred and fifty thousand
if the horse failed to run, or ran backwards, or fell
down ; at all events, did not win the race.
Mrs. Crowley had a telegraphed offer of twenty-five
thousand dollars before breakfast on the day after she
had drawn the favorite. At noon another telegram
offered her thirty thousand dollars ; and at half past
twelve she received a "hold everything" message ; an
agent of the syndicate was on his way by 'plane to Mill-
ington to confer with her.
Her doorbell had rung steadily all day, for everyone
in the parish from Father Will down to the three-
year-old Lannigan twins had come to her little white
cottage to offer their congratulations. This did not
disturb her at all, but the constant appearance of the
Western Union boy had, by mid-afternoon, begun to
get on her nerves. Steel herself as she would when
she saw the yellow envelope in the boy's hand with the
32 HERSELF :
thought that it was just another offer from the syndi-
cate, she opened each telegram with trepidation. While
it was undoubtedly from those pests in New York, still
who was to know, that at a time like this, you might
not very well hear of some tragedy ? By five o'clock
she was completely worn out.
"For two cents/' she told soft-voiced, kindly Maria
Killoran, whose soothing presence all day had kept
her somewhat relaxed and composed, "for two cents y
Maria, Fd open the stove lid and throw that old ticket
on the coals. For two cents, Fd burn it up and get
rid of all the bother it's giving me. It's been nothing
but tramp-tramp-tramp up the walk and through the
front door and into the parlor all day. My good car-
pet is ruined, and that big fat Alderman Finglas had no
more sense nor manners than to plant himself firmly
down on the sofa cushion Sister Felicita hand-painted
for me one Christmas. It's so wrinkled and crushed,
I could cry. Oh, dear, I'm just exhausted. I'll never
put in another day like this, if I do have to burn the
old thing. It's just what the old jingle used to say,
'Needles and pins, needles and pins. When you've
got money, your trouble begins/ It certainly has
with me !"
"Drink your tea before it gets cold/' said Mrs. Kil-
loran comfortingly, "and as far as I ever heard it, it was
'When you've no money your trouble begins/ It cer-
tainly sounds more sensible that way. Cheer up, Ab-
bie, it will all come out in the wash, as they say. This
time next year you'll be laughing at yourself, the way
you let it bother you today/'
"I suppose/' said Mrs. Crowley, reflectively, "I sup-
pose. But Fve still got tonight to look forward to*
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 33
That fellow, the last time he telegraphed, said he would
be here at nine o'clock. You're sure now you told
Paul McDonoughue on the telephone to be here as
soon after eight as he could ? Father Will said that
it was very important I had a lawyer here to do the talk-
ing for me ; and Paul is as smart as a whip. The New
York man would be hard at it to put anything over on
Paul, if I only get a chance to talk to Paul ahead of
time/'
"Paul said he would be right over as soon as he
finished his dinner. They eat at seven at his house ;
I asked him. So he ought to be over in plenty of
time. Do you think you'll sell out, Abbie, or will you
hold on and take a chance ?"
"Oh, don't ask me that," wailed Mrs. Crowley, her
spirits visibly drooping again. "I don't know what to
do. Of all the people that came tramping in and out
of here all day, some advised me one thing and some
the other. Some were all for selling, and more for
holding on. I declare I don't know what I'll do. I
don't even know whether I'm coming or going, never
mind anything else. I'll see what Paul says. I'd just as
soon sell. I don't like horses, you know, Maria. I
could never put my trust in a horse. Horses never
stood for anything good for me and mine. I'd have
my Pat with me now," her voice was very old and very
weary, "to tell me what to do if it hadn't been for a
horse. It was trying to halt a runaway when he was
on the Force and having his ribs stove in that killed
him, Maria. It was God's will, of course, that he be
taken ; but I can't say that horses ever brought me any
luck. It's hard to be alone when you're old, Maria.
I only bought the ticket because the Whalen boy was
34 HERSELF :
too young to get on the W.P.A., and I knew whatever
he got for selling the things he'd turn over to his
mother. He's a good boy."
"Well, why don't you lie down now/' said Mrs.
Killoran, picking up the tea cups and saucers and carry-
ing them over to the sink. "Lie down on the couch
and try to get a little nap. I'll do up the dishes and
then 111 be on my way. Take that afghan and throw
it over you, so you won't catch cold. I may drop in
about ten to find out what come of your talk with the
man ; but if I do, I'll let myself in the back and stay
here in the kitchen until I know you are free. Un-
hook the screen door when you go to let him in ...
the kitchen door here."
Mrs. Crowley dutifully stretched herself out on the
walnut and black horsehair lounge she had moved from
the front room to the kitchen when she had bought
her brocaded, chenille-fringed parlor set. She slipped
her feet out of her elastic-sided Congress boots and
curled up in the soft, knitted afghan ; but she could
not sleep. Her back ached with nervous fatigue. She
would give anything, she thought, to be able to go to
bed with a cup of hot milk and a hot water bottle and
sleep for a full twenty-four hours. She was never one,
she knew, who could sleep in her clothes, or before
it was really time to go to bed right. Still, she re-
flected, the rest may do me some good, even if I don't
feel like sleeping. She was more tired than she knew,
and in a few minutes had dropped off into a restless
doze.
The peal of the front door bell wakened her. She
did not bother to glance at the clock ticking placidly
on the wooden mantel shelf over the stove. She had
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 35
slept, and too long ; it must be after eight ; that would
be Paul at the door. She slipped her boots on quickly,
and puffed up her white pompadour hastily with one of
her gray side combs.
"Yes, Paul. Fm coming/' she called out, for the bell
pealed again as she hurried along the narrow hallway
to the front of the house.
She opened the door quickly, and stepped back in
complete surprise. A stranger stood on the threshold,
a sleekly groomed man, with a pencilled black mus-
tache and the suavest of smiles. He had a brief-case
under his arm. With the other hand he quickly re-
moved a black Homburg hat. Mrs. Crowley knew at
once who it was the agent of the syndicate from
New York. "Either him or Anthony Eden, I said to
myself right away. He was the spittin' image of that
Premier or Lord Chancellor or whatever he is that's
always in the papers," she told Mrs. Killoran later.
The man introduced himself as Mr. Cone of New
York. This was Mrs. Crowley he was sure ? Yes ;
then my very heartiest congratulations, Mrs. Crowley.
She had received his telegrams ? Then, she was ready
of course to discuss the matter in which they were both
so interested ; he was sure that they could come to the
most amicable of agreements. Might he step inside ?
For Mrs. Crowley unmindful of her manners was star-
ing out beyond him, scanning the street as well as she
could in the darkness for the ally upon whom she had
so much counted. She heard the bell on the Baptist
church begin to strike the hour. Still holding the
door against her visitor's entry she counted the strokes.
It was only seven o'clock.
Her heart sank ; but there was nothing to do but
3 6 HERSELF :
make the best of a bad job, she thought ruefully. With
an effort she regained her composure, and ushered Mr.
Cone into her front room. He was very much at his
ease. Asking her permission, but without waiting for
it, he at once drew one of the brocaded side chairs to
the marble-topped table in the centre of the room.
He cleared the table then of a potpourri jar and a
photograph of the Bishop in a painted china frame,
and placed them upon the lambrequin-hung mantel
The embroidered cover he carefully folded and placed
upon the fat, late-Victorian sofa. "I never saw anyone
so ready and willing to make himself at home. You'd
be hard put to it from his actions to tell who lived in
the house, him or me," related his astonished hostess,
who watched him with amazement out of the corner
of one eye, while the other, from the post she had at
once taken in the bay window, peered through the
heavy Nottingham lace curtains seeking aid and rescue.
Mr. Cone was courtesy itself. He placed his brief
case upon the cleared table, saw that Mrs. Crowley was
standing, and immediately leaped to draw up a chair
for her. It happened to be a rocking chair, one of her
wedding presents. Mrs. Crowley "could never abide
being Jiggled back and forth," but she sat in it even
though it made her more uncomfortable and ill at
ease than before. There seemed to be nothing else
she could do but sit in it. Mr. Cone's suaveness was
firm and commanding.
"We-e-ell, Mrs. Crowley/' the New Yorker began,
"I've some good news for you, some ve-ry good news.
You know our last telegram offered you thirty thou-
sand dollars for your ticket. We-ell, after I sent that
telegram, I got to thinking it over, and I finally said to
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 37
my partner, Mr. Mark, that I thought that in your in-
terests, even though we ? ourselves, were taking the
chance of a frightful loss I said to Mark, 'Look here,
Mark. Here's this brave little woman 'way down in
New England who stands a chance of having all her
hopes blasted if her horse doesn't come in. You know
how you and I decided to make that little woman
happy for the rest of her years by turning that chance,
that ve-ry hazardous and dangerous chance, into a cer-
tainty ; by giving her money enough to keep her in
comfort until she is ready to meet her Maker ; and tak-
ing the risk of losing that money on our own shoulders.
'Mark/ I said, 1 think we should give that brave little
lady thirty-five thousand dollars/ And my dear Mrs.
Crowley and you do not know what a pleasure it is
to meet a dear sweet old lady like yourself in a little
vine-clad cottage like this Mrs. Crowley, my partner,
Mr. Mark, authorized me to do just that thing. Even
'though, Mrs. Crowley, the latest dispatches from Lon-
don we have a direct wire to the track from our New
York office the latest dispatches say that Binnie Boy
is suf-fering from a heavy cold ; and may not even run.
So if you will just sign this little document here I
have my pen all ready and give me your receipt for
your ticket, I'll be the happiest man in the United
States for I'll know that I have saved one dear, sweet
old lady from a bit-ter, bit-ter disappointment."
Mrs. Patrick Crowley was in the deepest misery.
Had she followed her own feelings and been able to
think only of herself, the suave young man from New
York would have found himself "here's your hat,
what's your hurry" outside on the door-step ; and
the door slammed and locked against him. Mrs.
3 8 HERSELF :
Crowley's temper was sorely tried by Mr. Cone's unc-
tuousness. It was the first time in her life that any-
one had called her "an old lady' 7 to her face ; to be
called "dear, sweet and brave" was much more, she felt,
than even a holy saint could stand.
But on the other hand, there was the danger that
the horse, Binnie Boy, might not have sense enough to
win the race. You could never trust a horse, she
thought again bitterly ; although not for one moment
did she believe that the horse had a bad cold. What a
glom he must think I am to talk to me about a horse
having a bad cold ; if it was a spavin or the heaves I
might have believed him ; but a bad cold / She did
not speak, but twisted her handkerchief in her hands
nervously, as Cone held out the pen to her.
It was not for her own sake that she was afraid of
losing the money ; but, the night before, she had lain
awake planning the good she might do with it, a new
monument for her graves, a set of vestments for Father
Will, a burse for the Missionary Catechists and one
for Maryknoll, a little trip for herself and Maria Kil-
loran, a good sum for the Little Sisters of the Poor and
for the St. Vincent de Paul, a watch a gold watch,
perhaps for Buddy Whalen. She did not truly know
now what to do. If Paul would only come !
"Let me think a moment? I won't be rushed,"
she managed to say to the much too suavely urgent
Cone. She dreaded another outburst of his fullsome-
ness, for although her dislike of him was intense, she
felt powerless to resist him. Birds were often hyp-
notized by the eyes of snakes, she recalled having read
somewhere, and then were swallowed up. She felt
exactly like a bird of that kind every time she looked up
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 39
at his too brightly eager eyes, and the wet redness of
his lips as he showed his flashing teeth in coaxing
smiles.
The doorbell rang again suddenly. It brought her a
relief so great that she felt almost too weak to move
from her chair. Paul at last ! "Come right in, come
right in, the door's unlocked. Here in the front
room/' she cried. The door unlatched and then
clicked as it closed.
Cone was sitting with his back to the door. She
bit her lips to hold back a gasp of disappointment. It
was not Attorney McDonoughue framed in the door-
way, but Jake Rubinovitch, the tailor, with her best
cape folded on his arm. She had sent it to be dry-
cleaned and had meant to call for it that afternoon.
She had not, so Jake had evidently made a special er-
rand to bring it to her, and, as her friend, to wish her
joy of her good fortune.
Jake stood, his eloquent eyebrows upraised, waiting
for her to speak. He had dressed himself in the
clothes he wore on the High Holidays to do her honor.
As she saw the black broadcloth cutaway coat, the fancy
waistcoat, and the ringed necktie that Jake had adopted
thirty years before as the most elegant of the styles of
a free country, and had never changed, a mad idea
leaped into Mrs. Crowley's harassed mind. She had
been bemoaning the lack of a man's counsel. She had
been sending up little prayers to the Blessed Virgin for
Lawyer McDonoughue to come before it was too late.
Might not Jake do as well ?
"Oh, Mr. Rubinovitch/' she said, with a peremp-
tory nod that she prayed Jake might understand, "I
have been waiting so anxiously for you. This is Mr.
40 HERSELF :
Cone from the syndicate in New York who wants to
buy my ticket. Mr, Cone, this is Mr. Rubinovitch
my-my-legal adviser." It is not a lie, she thought, to
say 'legal adviser" anyone could be that ; and it is his
own stupidity if that fellow thinks Jake is a lawyer. I
owe him that much for calling me a "sweet old lady,"
and saying the horse has a bad cold.
"Nu," said Jake, coming forward softly, with a smile
fully as bland as that of the man who had risen to
shake his hand. "Nu, so a Cohen, too, like one of my
own girls, since she stood under the red canopy. To
meet you, is my great pleasure, Mr. Cohen."
"Cone. C-ON-E. The name is Cone/' said the
agent, smiling still, but not as suavely.
"So. So. A C-o-n-e Cohen ; no matter," said Jake
easily. "My own boy, in the high school he calls him-
self Rubin. What matter what name we call ourselves
if it makes it easier for the business, so long we still
keep the Shabbas and go to Synagogue."
"I am afraid you are mistaken. I am an Episco-
palian," said Cone curtly.
"Sh-sh, I speak too much about our race and the
religion of our fathers," apologized Jake with a twinkle,
"and not enough about business. That is not to be
a good Jew, eh, Mr. Cohen, to let business go that way
while we talk foolish talk ? We shall sit down now
and talk business, eh, Mr. Cohen ? So."
"Sit here, Mr. Rubinovitch," said Mrs. Crowley, ris-
ing quickly from the rocker and moving to the sofa,
behind the agent of the syndicate, facing the chair she
had left.
"Nut," began Jake, beaming across the table, "You
want to talk business about the ticket for the horse-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 41
racing, Mr. Co'en. Hmh, should we be wasting our
time sitting here talking ? Such a horse, Mr. Co'en,
why should we bother ? Half-way down the track he
is already, ahead of the other horses by so much ; and
not for two days is the race. By such a sure winner
should we throw money away, Mr. Co'en ? I ask you,
Mr. Co'en, is that business ? We waste our time talk-
ing, no ?"
"Of course, Mr. Rubinovitch, you realize/' answered
Cone, "that uncertainty makes horse-racing possible
and popular. If the favorite always won, there would
be no bets because there would be no takers. Re-
member that Stage Hand nosed out the two to one
favorite, Seabiscuit, at Santa Anita. It's always hap-
pening. As a great syndicate, with unlimited financial
resources, we are, fortunately, in a position to take a
risk that this dear little lady here should not be forced
to take. When I think how heartbroken, how disap-
pointed she will be if anything should happen to Bin-
nie Boy frankly, Mr. Rubinovitch, my own better
nature forces me to push business to one side. I want
to spare this little lady all that suffering and heart-
break."
"Tsk, tsk," Jake wagged his head sympathetically,
"such good sentiments I like, Mr. Co'en. You and
me, we should work together for my client yes ?
Mr, Co'en has your interest at heart, like me, Mrs.
Crowley. That is nice, that is good. Then 111 tell
you, Mr. Co'en why should Mrs. Crowley sell that
ticket ? For losing all that money if maybe the horse
is sick ? Tsk, tsk, we should be laughing at that, with a
good sport like my client, a woman who already lets
weeks slip by before she telephones me up to go by
4 2 HERSELF :
her to the bank and cut off her coupons. Should it be
worry by the money ha-ha, Mrs. Crowley, such a
-good joke, hey, when fooling I always call you by the
name Hetty Green. Lives simple always, my client,
Mr. Co'en, but with such stocks and bonds and rich
property I shouldn't be telling you, Mr. Co'en. Na,
na, na, by the money to win or lose, it is nothing. But
the seasickness, that is something. Such a poor stom-
ach, Mr. Co'en. By the steamer Girl of Plymouth,
only to New York should she go, and would be in hos-
pital for three days with big specialists. By the church
excursion to Rocky Point, not for twenty years can
she go, and is heartbreak for her, Mr. Co'en. Such a
stomach for the ocean water to make upset.
"Should she go to Ireland on the jQueen Mary to
collect that money, should I advise her so ? Mr,
Co'en, should I advise my client and good friend, Mrs.
Crowley, to make of herself a dead one ? Nu, nu, Mr.
Co'en. So only should we sell from the seasickness,
ain't it so, Mrs. Crowley ?"
Mrs. Crowley glared at him from the sofa. His left
eyelid drooped imperceptibly. The agent noticed noth-
ing.
"Oh, we-ell," she said, hoping she was reading the
signal correctly, "those big boats, they say, don't rock.
They wouldn't be like the steamer Hough's Neck or
even the Girl of Plymouth. It's been so long since Fve
been on a boat, you can't tell. I may be all over that/'
"So then we shouldn't sell, hey ?" responded Jake at
once. "You see, Mr. Co'en," he threw his hands wide,
expressively, "even the seasickness now, it don't count
By her it is too much easy money to be seasick even/'
"But Mrs. Crowley, at your age, a frail little woman
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 43
like you, this makes me feel even worse about the
matter/' said Cone very gravely. "When I think of
the Titanic and the Lusitania, and all the danger of
shipwreck and if you are not a well woman. Dear,
dear ! No, we can't have that. If anything happened
to you, in case the horse did win and as I say, that is
just a chance I would never forgive myself. Ill tell
you what I'll do. Mark probably won't speak to me
when I get back to New York, but I'll offer you fifty
thousand for the ticket, just so my mind will be at
rest about you/'
"You are laughing at us/' Jake said at once, very
sternly. "I do not like that, Mr. Co'en of New York.
Easy to see by us is no business. Good night, Mr.
Co'en. Because we are not from metropolises does
not say we are fools. Good night, Mr. Co'en/'
"But see here, Mr. Rubinovitch, don't be so hasty.
It is up to Mrs. Crowley here, I think. Yes, and for
her sweet sake, I'll even make it fifty-five thousand. Is
that a deal, Mrs. Crowley ?"
"I am just a "frail little woman/ " she answered with
a gentle primness that made Jake reach for his hand-
kerchief and cough heavily. "I am leaving everything
to Mr. Rubinovitch/' Mr. Cone little knew that the
former leading woman of the Mary Anderson Dramatic
Club of the parish was once again trodding the boards.
"Less than one hundred and thirty thousand I
couldn't think of it," Jake remarked off-handedly.
"Why, man, you're crazy I" Cone's voice was heated.
"It wouldn't be worth our risk 1"
"Nu," Jake answered placidly, "for you twenty thou-
sand dollars for nothing, for no work ? Then, why not
throw it away. We should worry/'
44 HERSELF :
"See here, Rubinovitch, I'll put my cards on the
table. I'll pay seventy-five thousand dollars for that
ticket, but I won't pay a cent more. That's my top
price. Take it or leave it." He paused for a mo-
ment "Seventy-five thousand dollars, right in the hand.
I have rny cheque book here. A sure seventy-five thou-
sand dollars. That's a whole lot of money, Mr. Rubin-
ovitch."
'Tiff uh, why should we talk such foolish little money
by Mrs. Crowley, with all her real estate property bring-
ing big money in, every week/' Jake shrugged his shoul-
ders disinterestedly. "And such a sure thing that
horse, Mr. Co'en. Like a whirlwind, it says by the
sporting news in the paper, he will gallop home on
head. Nu, maybe we should throw twenty or twenty-
five thousand dollars away on account Mrs. Crowley
she gets seasick ; but when you say seventy-five or
eighty thousand dollars, it should be my advice to my
client it would pay her to take a doctor and nurse with
her, and maybe no sickness. How can we tell ?"
"If you want eighty thousand dollars, I'll go that
high, but you are robbing me," said Cone sullenly.
"Will you settle for eighty ?"
"Should I rob you, Mr. Co'en ? If that is robbing,
then we don't do business. Tsk, tsk, that Jacob Ru~
binovitch should rob a man for eighty thousand dollars.
You can't afford it, is that so, Mr. Co'en ? Then why
should we take your money from you, if it is robbing ?
Na, na, that we will not do."
"We can afford it," the agent said curtly, "but not a
cent more. It's not worth it to us. The risk is too
great."
"O-o h," Jake shook his head commiseratingly.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 45
"And by us, by Mrs. Crowley, the risk is nothing.
Pooh I Pooh ! Such a risk only makes us sports in our
blood. And here I am talking foolish about sickness
and boats. Mrs. Crowley, by the airplane or the diri-
gible you can afford to go to Ireland for the money
and no sickness. . ."
The door bell rang again, breaking into Jake's happy
new thought. Mrs. Crowley left the room. After a
few moments low whispered conversation in the hall,
so low that even Jake's keen ears could not grasp its
context, she re-entered the front room. A tall, clean-
cut young man was with her. It was McDonoughue,
the attorney, whom she had been so anxiously await-
ing. Jake rose and shook hands with him at once ;
and Mrs. Crowley introduced him to Cone but
merely as one would present a casual visitor. No men-
tion was made of his profession, nor did he show any
more than a casual interest in the brief-case and pa-
pers spread out between Jake and the agent on the
marble-topped centre table.
Mrs. Crowley removed some of the cushions and
made a place for him beside her on the sofa.
"Just a minute, just a minute, Paulie," said Jake at
once, very urbanely. Attorney McDonoughue had
been a school playmate of his own boys, with a remark-
able memory for the yearly coming of the Feast of the
Purirn and an insatiable appetite for Mrs. Rubino-
vitch's Hamantasche. "Soon, I'll talk to you. Mr.
Co'en here and me, we can't get together. For Mrs,
Crowley I was going to sell him her ticket by the
Sweepstakes ; but he makes fun of me by offering
ninety or a hundred thousand dollars instead of talk-
ing sensible money."
46 HERSELF :
"Don't mind me," said McDonoughue easily, "I just
dropped by to tell Mrs. Crowley that the news flashes
on the radio tonight gave out that Mag's Mare, the
only horse that was supposed to have even the ghost
of a chance against Binnie Boy, had stretched a tendon
when they were exercising her this morning. You'd
be foolish to sell out, if that's true, Mrs. Growley."
'It's only the seasickness, Paulie," Jake spoke sadly,
"the bad seasickness she gets on a boat. And would
it be worse flying over with an airship to collect the
money, I don't know. I'd have to see a doctor. So
what's the use. As I tell Co'en, it is better we don't
sell if we can't get the price. For a hundred and
twenty thousand dollars, maybe so that the money
over would pay the income tax people ; but even for a
hundred like Mr. Co'en would pay, now he hears about
the other horse, it ain't worth it hardly, except for the
seasickness ; and maybe Mrs. Crowley is all over that
now. After twenty years never in a boat the system
has time to get used to it . /'
"I'll give you a hundred and five thousand dollars/'
Cone broke in hoarsely. "That will take care of your
fee and leave the old lady a cool one hundred grand for
herself. I positively won't bid any higher !"
"Am I shyster you tell me my fee ?" Jake straight-
ened in his chair bristling. "And make me out a small
timer at five thousand dollars, not even ten per cent
. . . already ? Mrs. Crowley, not for one ruble less
than one hundred fifteen thousand dollars would I
sell that ticket. And for that I have to ask your per-
mission to throw all that good money away. Can I
sell it for one hundred fifteen thousand dollars, Mrs.
Crowley ? Na, na, na, don't say it now if you don't
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 47
want to. It's probable best we hold on to it, nu ?"
"I'll pay a hundred and ten thousand ; and that is
final r snarled Cone, spacing his words slowly for
emphasis. "One hundred and ten thousand, and I
quit. Absolutely, I quit /"
Jake appraised the agent shrewdly, convinced at last
that Cone meant what he said. He shook his head
sorrowfully and negatively for a few moments. Then,
with a last throwing out of his expressive hands in*
unwilling surrender, "For the seasickness only, Mrs.
Crowley, my advice to you then ... is sign/'
"I've a certified cheque here for a hundred thousand
dollars. Will you accept an ordinary cheque for the
balance ?" asked Cone curtly, when Mrs. Crowley said
she would follow Jake's advice in the matter.
"So . . ." said Jake softly, "a hundred thousand dol-
lars you were ready to pay, and still by me you call a
robber. Tsk, tsk, Mr. Co'en, such unkind words.
An ordinary cheque after that, I don't know."
"That cheque was for deposit in Boston. I have-
other ticket holders to see in this territory. Our credit
is the best. We have money behind us. You don't
need to be afraid of an ordinary cheque either. It
won't bounce."
"Not on Jake Rubinovitch, no, sir," said Jake firmly..
"That day ain't going to come for a long time. And
is too late now to call up your bank. Na, na, Mr..
Co'en. I'm afraid we sleep on it until we talk by Mr,
Davis at the bank tomorrow. Maybe by then Mrs.
Crowley should want to change her mind. Maybe we
decide not to sell."
"I'll make it twenty thousand on the plain cheque,"
burst out Cone furiously.
48 HERSELF :
"Done !" said McDonoughue.
"Is a deal, Paulie ?" asked Jake anxiously.
"I saw Mr. Davis this afternoon early/' said the
young attorney grinning, "and we got the credit rating
of the syndicate. Bankers play ball together, it seems.
It's all right to take the plain cheque."
Cone glared at them all, but without more-a-do
hastily inscribed the cheque ; and Mrs. Crowley signed
her name in turn to the short legal document trans-
ferring her right to the ticket, after McDonoughue had
studied it carefully. The agent shoved his papers back
into his briefcase hastily, and left the house at once,
with the curtest of acknowledgments.
The moment the door had closed after him, Maria
Killoran came tiptoeing up the hall from the kitchen,
her face all inquiry.
"Did you did you sell, Abbie ?" she whispered
from the doorway. "Fve been on pins and needles in
the kitchen listening to the voices and wondering how
it was coming out."
"Maria," said Mrs. Crowley without answering the
question. "He had the nerve that fellow from New
York - to call me a 'dear sweet frail old lady/ "
The young attorney let out a whoop. "Hell's bells,
Mrs. Crowley," he said, "no wonder Jake here took
him for such a ride. Mrs. Killoran," he cried, "she got
a hundred and twenty thousand dollars all through
foxy Jake here ; and seventy-five thousand was going to
be the limit I was going to ask for, without even think-
ing Fd be able to get that much."
Mrs. Crowley's shoulders shook and shook. "Oh,
Maria, I could have wished you were here. It was as
good as a show," she said between peels of irrepres-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 49
sible laughter. "Oh, he was the slick article ! Butter
wouldn't melt in his mouth when he first came ; but
you should have seen the way Jake handled him. Jake
had the fellow coming and going/'
"Anytime, Mrs. Crowley," said Jake beaming, "that
a Rubinovitch married to a rabbi's daughter, with two
cousins cantors, is not a match for a Cohen that
changes his name Yankee and makes out he was born
Protestant, then you take your cleaning and pressing
some other place. Don't you trust it to Jake Rubino-
vitch ; by him the brains will be all gone/'
"I only wish I'd heard the start of it," grinned
McDonoughue. "It must have been rich. You cer-
tainly had him going, Mr. Rubinovitch, by the time I
came in."
"Hmm," Jake's smile was broad and gleeful. "Who
then was the Shylock, hey, Paulie ? Not Rubinovitch,
ain't it so ? but the other fellow. Next time you
read that Merchant of Venice story in your books, you
think of old Jakie and how he didn't let the false goy
from New York put nothing over on my dear friend,
Mrs. Crowley. Momma won't be able to stop the
laughing when I go home and tell her."
"Well, what got me," Mrs. Crowley leaned back,
relaxed and merry, "was the way you had me cutting
coupons in the bank, and owning I don't know what
real estate ; when every cent I have to my name is
Patrick's Civil War pension and the little bit of rent
I get from that four tenement block on Green Street ;
and sure, the water bills and the taxes eat that up. I
won't say you did any fibbing, Jake, but I will say you
have an awful imagination."
"I should pry into your personal affairs, Mrs. Crow-
5 o HERSELF :
ley," fake answered with a twinkle. "By a poor man
like me it makes a Hetty Green to own a four tene-
ment block, nu. Should I know if you don't still have
your Liberty bonds and those bonds to help free Ire-
land you had one time ? How should I know if you
sold them ?"
"And what was this about the seasickness ?" asked
the young attorney.
'The one time I ever felt it, the one time in my life,
was on the steamer Hough's Neck going to Rocky
Point, and that was all of twenty years ago. It was
the parish excursion, and a storm came up that all but
stood the boat on end off Prudence Island. Indeed, I
had a right to be sick that time ; and I wasn't the only
one. But I have never been bothered since, and IVe
been dying all night to ask Jake if that was all was
behind all his talk/' said the old lady.
"You don't remember, hey, who was with you on
that excursion boat ride ?" Rubinovitch answered at
once. "Who you took that time ? Fll tell you who
you took. You asked Momma to go for the outing on
the water, and Hyman you took and Mordecai and
little Esther. That's how I remember. The storm
was nothing, afterward; and they had such a good
time by Rocky Point. My Esther still tells how Fa-
ther Will bought her popcorn and salt water taffy like
she was a little Catholic girl. All those things I re-
member, Mrs. Crowley."
"Well, I must get back," Mrs. Killoran said at last,
after the interview had been talked over from every
angle and in full detail. "John and the girls will be
waiting up to hear the news/'
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 51
"Me, too, I must hurry to tell the Momma so shell
go to bed laughing/' said Jake.
"I've the car," Paul McDonoughue said. "I can run
you each home easily/'
On the porch, Mrs. Crowley tried again to tell Jake
how grateful she was to him.
"While I sat there/' she said, "too upset either to ac-
cept his offer or to refuse him, all I could think of to
do was to keep praying to the Blessed Virgin to send
someone to help me ; and then like a miracle you came
just in time."
"And why should she pick me, Mrs. Crowley ?" the
little man's voice was very tender. "So, perhaps, I
could give back some of the good you have done my
little family. Maybe, she knew that. Maybe, that
was her idea ... to show us that we should all love
each other and do good to each other. We Jews ain't
so bad, Mrs. Crowley ; and I think, too, she heard your
prayers. You know, Mrs. Crowley, Miriam bar David
of the house of Jesse, she, too, was a Jew not so ?"
CHAPTER III
|RS. CROWLEY felt that she had never
spent a more difficult Lent. The draw-
ing of the Sweepstakes lottery that year
was at mi-careme ; and from that time
on until Holy Week, not an hour of the
day or evening went by without newspapermen and
photographers, peddlers and salesmen, agents for auto-
mobiles, for electric refrigerators, for vacuum cleaners,
lawn mowers, tractors, sewing machines, for every con-
ceivable large machine and small gadget that had ever
been invented banging her gate or ringing her door-
bell. One of the most persistent of all the salesmen
was delivering a sales talk that had lasted a full fifteen
minutes without a break, one morning as Father Will
Curley came up the walk. His rapid flow of words
gave the harassed Mrs. Crowley no idea of what the
object was he was trying to sell. Fie reached his
peroration at the very moment Father Will reached
his side. Mrs. Crowley looked up at Father Curley
in helpless horror as the salesman with a flourish
pressed home the advantages of the Easy Flow Beer
Pump. Mrs. Crowley was mortified, but Father Will,
who sent the salesman on his way, tactfully, but at
once, thought it was a great joke.
Her mail, hitherto confined to America and Ave
Maria once a week, The Franciscan and The Mission-
ary Catechist once a month, and an occasional letter
from Sister Margaret of Scotland or one of the few
other friends she had out of town, grew to enormous
proportions. A starving mother of nine children in
52
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 53
Syracuse wanted a loan to buy an accordion to go on
Major Bowes' programme; a bachelor "temporarily
out of work" and a three-fold widower "am con-
sidered very neat looking for my age" proposed mar-
riage ; an inventor in New Jersey needed a thousand
dollars to perfect what, from his crabbed handwriting,
seemed to be a noiseless alarm clock ; there were four
offers to invest in poultry farms and one bid to go into
partnership to raise silver foxes; she was invited to
join the W.C.T.U., the League Against War and Fas-
cism, the Friends of Russia, the Lord's Day Alliance/
the Lonely Hearts' Association, and the Anglo-Ameri-
can Union ; one woman wanted the date of her birth
that she might cast Mrs. Crowley's horoscope, another
offered her spiritualistic communication with her loved
ones ; for ten dollars she could have her genealogical
tree traced ; her coat of arms would be sent at once
for five dollars ; every beautician and corsetiere, every
laundry and every upholsterer, every dress and gifte
shoppe proprietor for miles around wrote her a per-
sonal letter ; she was implored to have her teeth taken
care of, her eyes examined, her hands manicured and
her feet pedicured ; she was deluged with advertise-
ments for drugs and patent medicines, for creams and
lotions, face clays and cleaning fluids, soaps and per-
fumes and powders. She felt abashed and ashamed
to confront Tom Mulvey, the letter carrier, when his
two quick rings brought her hurrying to the door, his
arms were always so laden. The thought that her
mail alone had swollen his bag and made it a third
again as heavy as it had been, bothered her. But "Oh,
cheer up," said Tom every day gaily. "They'll soon
give up. It will soon be over. And think of all the
54 HERSELF :
cancelled stamps you'll have for Reverend Mother/*
She never quite realized the vicarious delight Tom
Mulvey, and, indeed, all the parish, took in her new
eminence. For once in our lives at least we were close
friends of a celebrity, and we made the most of it.
The man who was wont to boast that he shook the
hand of a man who shook the hand of a man who shook
the hand of John L. Sullivan was closely akin to us in
the days after Mrs. Crowley won her fortune. If we
met Postman Mulvey coming along the street our first
question was, "Did she get much letters today ?" ; and
if we were so fortunate as to meet Maria Killoran or
Aggie Kelly or Mary Ellen Shea, all close confidantes
of Mrs. Patrick, at John Riordan's grocery, or coming
from night prayers, we were eager for every crumb of
information they might have about our first lady of
the parish, and her present and future plans. We
took great delight in the letters she received, although
more than once, when we heard of some particularly
outlandish proposal that had been made her, we shook
our heads in disgust that there should "be people like
that in the world let run around loose/'
Father Will, we knew, was Mrs. Crowley's mainstay
of support and counsel. It was he who had her call
upon Attorney McDonoughue to estimate at once the
national and state income taxes she would have to pay.
That sum then was put aside in a separate account at
the bank. Upon his advice and that of Henry Davis,
the bank president, fifty thousand dollars was made
over into a trust fund ; the money remaining, Father
Will and Davis smilingly agreed, she might spend as
foolishly as she pleased.
"Or as wisely/' she answered composedly, as they
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 55
sat about Davis' massive mahogany desk, the miniature
of his mother in 'the plain garb' its single ornament.
"'Mr. Davis/' said Father Will chuckling, "you know
how rapacious we priests are. Will you believe me
when I tell you that I have already refused a trip to the
Eucharistic Congress at Budapest with a chance to
see Rome on the way over and Ireland on the way
back; that I have turned down an offer for a new
organ and for a new set of Stations ; that I have in-
sisted that the church vestments are in perfect condi-
tion and quite fine enough for our use ; and that under
no circumstances would I accept, nor ride in, a high-
powered limousine ?"
"If thee says it, Father, it is so. I have had cause
to know thee. The widow's mite is safe with thee,
Friend." The banker spoke tenderly. Unconsciously
he had dropped into the plain speech of his boyhood,
"Well, at least, Mr. Davis, at the very least and
I don't care whether you're a Protestant or not ; but
don't you think he ought to let me give him a new
chalice ?"
"Wooden chalice, golden priest," quoted Father Will,
"When Patrick came to Eirinn :
Golden chalice, wooden priest,
And ill the faith were faring 1"
"Oh, dear, you make me tired !" said Mrs. Crowley
to him. "You always manage to put me off and have
the last word. . . What can you do with a man like
that, Mr. Davis ?"
"Cherish him, Mrs. Crowley, cherish him," said the
banker with a broadly amused smile on his thin face.
"Why, old Davis acted almost human," commented
56 HERSELF :
Mrs. Crowley as she and Father Will left the bank.
"If it hadn't been for my own experience with him
when I was collecting for the Irish Relief I wouldn't
have believed it. Ill bet none of his clerks ever saw
him smile like that. What did he stop you for at^the
door ? He seemed very earnest about something/ 7
'It was nothing/' said the priest. He did not think
the time propitious to tell Mrs. Crowley, whose gifts
he had refused, that Henry Davis had askecHf he might
not give the money for a new chalice. "Please, Fa-
ther/' he had insisted, "as a gift from my mother in
memory of old Father Sullivan. They were friends,
you see . , . and he, too, was ... a 'golden priest/ "
The appeals from Catholic organizations disturbed
Mrs. Crowley the most ; and the mail continued to
bring, in increasing numbers, entreaties for aid to mis-
sions to the colored people, to the Indians, to the Chi-
nese, the Japanese, the Hindus and the Esquimaux.
Mother Superiors of foundling asylums, of orphanages,
of homes for the aged and for wayward boys and girls,
of charity hospitals and day nurseries, throughout the
country, sent their pleas for assistance ; she was im-
plored to join national and international religious con-
fraternities and associations, and to subscribe to half a
hundred pious publications.
These, too, Father Will dealt with sternly. "Even
if the greater part of your money were not tied up in
the trust fund," he said, "you could not possibly re-
spond to all these calls upon you. Some you would
have to turn down, simply because you had already
used your money on the others. I know how you feel
exactly. I used to lie awake nights when I was a cu-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 57
rate, if some missioner appealed to me for money, and
I had none left out of iny salary or the few offerings
that were given me, to send on to him. But I just
had to make up my mind to do the best I could ; and
pray that someone else would be in a position to an-
swer the pleas I could not answer. You have your
own charities, I know. Keep on with them. Make
an offering if you will whenever any of these causes
particularly touches your heart ; but don't start send-
ing cheques out recklessly, without any thought for
the future. You will find plenty of opportunities for
spending your money worthily in the months and the
years to come/'
Mrs. Crowley privately thought that he was becom-
ing very cold-hearted ; not at all the way he used to be
in the past when half the time Bessie Cleary, over at
the rectory, used to say that she had a good mind to
put a lock on the ice chest the way he would be
handing out the food for his own dinner to anyone
who came to him with a hard luck story.
"Don't talk foolish/' Maria Killoran told her. "The
only thing he's looking out for is your own good. A
fool and his money soon part, and I've, no doubt a
body can be as foolish one way as another. You're
just working yourself up into a state, Abbie Crowley,
since that money came to you. What you ought to
do is to take a trip and get off somewhere, away from
all these letters, and peddlers, and people that are
bothering you, until it all calms down and you have a
chance to get your balance."
"I'd take a trip if you came with me," said Mrs,
Crowley brightening. "It wouldn't cost you anything
if you could only get away."
58 HERSELF :
"There you go again/' Mrs. Killoran shook her head
in mock despair. "Can't you think of anything at all
but shelling out money for somebody else ? Indeed,
if I went on a trip Yd insist on paying my own share.
John and the girls wouldn't have it otherwise. Not
for a minute that I'm thinking of going . . . although
the girls were trying to lead me on to say I would, the
other night. I'd look nice at my age bouncing off
alone on a trip/ I told them. Maybe, when they had
their vacation next summer we might take a cottage
somewhere, I said to them. That would be trip
enough for me. Where were you thinking of going,
Abbie ?"
"Oh, I wouldn't want to go far, Maria/' Mrs. Crow-
ley returned quickly. "I don't think I'd be much of
a one to go to Bermuda or Canada or any place like
that. They'd be too foreign. And with spring com-
ing on, I don't think I'd care for Florida. I did have
sort of an idea not that I've given it any thought at
all I did think I'd like to go to New York and see
the sights. But I'd want to stay there a while, and see
everything right. I wouldn't like just to dash down
and back."
"I haven't been to New York for thirty years, isn't
that funny ?" said Mrs. Killoran. "So near you might
say, and so handy to go by the boat, and still I never
get there. I was saying that to the girls just the other
night. My Mary has been down there four or five
times, and Theresa stopped over when she went with
the teachers to Washington last Easter vacation to see
the cherry blossoms. Like yourself, Abbie, there's not
many places appeals to me, this time of year especially ;
but I really do think I wouldn't mind being in New
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 59
York. Would you be thinking of going soon ? I sup-
pose you'd wait until Lent was out, anyway/'
"There's two things in New York I always wanted to
see, Maria. I always wanted to see the St. Patrick's
Day parade there, and the style parade of the big bugs
on Easter Sunday. It's too late now for the one, of
course ; but I certainly would like to take in the other
and if there was one thing I'd pay good money for, and
not even Father Will could stop me, it would be for
a sight of blessed Al Smith before I die. I'd give any-
thing to have a look at him . . . just the look at him
and I'd be satisfied, him and Mrs. Smith. And they
always go to the High at St. Patrick's Cathedral on
Easter Sunday. I've pictures of them on Fifth Ave-
nue after Mass put away in my drawer that I've clipped
out of the papers for the last five or six years/'
Mrs. Killoran chuckled comfortably. "Sure John
would pay my fare twice over if I could come home
and say I saw Governor Smith," she agreed. "Oh,
John is a great admirer of his. He's never got over
him not getting elected President. I don't know but
I think he still writes AFs name in on his ballot when
he goes to vote."
"Well, if he don't, I do," Mrs. Crowley's white head
shook emphatically. "He's the greatest man this coun-
try has ever known, barring none, unless you except
George Washington and Abraham Lincoln ; and less
power, I say, to them who didn't have brains enough
to recognize it. Yes, indeed, I'd even turn over the
fixing of the altar on Holy Thursday to Mary Shea,
and gladly, if I thought I'd get a chance to see Al
Smith/' The two women sat silently musing upon
their hero in the evening's quiet.
60 HERSELF :
Then, "What do you say, Maria ? Is it a bet ?"
asked Mrs. Crowley, briskly,
"HI go you, Til go you, Abbie !" was the surprising
answer. "Ill tell John and the girls tonight. They'll
be tickled to death that I finally gave in ... they've
been at me this longest while to take a holiday. My
Mary thought I never picked up right after the cold I
had last winter. And when they hear the two of us
are going together, everything will be all set. But
would you travel in Holy Week, Abbie ? Would that
be right, now, do you think ?"
"If we went on a pilgrimage sort of, it would, Maria.
We could take in the services at St. Patrick's and we
could do the seven churches on Maundy Thursday as
well there as here. Better, indeed, for think of the
wishes we'd have going to seven new churches for the
first time. And we could get over to the Paulist
Church for the Tenebrae. They say they do it beau-
tifullybeautifullythere. When Father Rogan,
Nellie Madigan's boy he's up at the Immaculate,
curate there when he was a seminarian he said he
never used to miss the Paulists for the Tenebrae if he
could make it at all. He was telling that to Aggie and
me when we went to the reception over at the Rogans'
after his First Mass. We could leave the shows and
the night clubs until Easter Week/'
*Td like to see a good show well enough," said Mrs.
Killoran smiling, "but you can count me out on the
night clubs. We'd make a pair going to night clubs."
"I wouldn't mind," retorted Mrs. Crowley, "Sure,
you're only young once. I'd hate to come back and
admit I missed anything."
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 61
Plans for the trip went forward at once. Father
Will thought it was an excellent idea. So did Mr.
Davis at the bank when the two women went in to
buy travellers' cheques, and Mrs. Crowley to arrange
for certain gifts that were to be made in her absence
from the city. When Jake Rubinovitch had indig-
nantly refused any payment for his great services in
obtaining the money for Mrs. Crowley, she had been
bewildered and disturbed. It was Father Will who
suggested that she establish a fund, anonymously, that
would pay Hyman's tuition at the New England Con-
servatory of Music, and Mordecai's expenses at Brown.
Jake could not help but guess, of course, but Davis
promised to keep the secret inviolate ; and they
counted on Jake's devotion to his children, and his de-
sire not to stand in their way, to make him stifle his
objections. Buddy Whalen was remembered, too, and
there were gifts for Aggie Kelly and Mary Ellen Shea,
and for a score of others who do not come into this
story. Mrs. Crowley felt great content in being able
to act as a faery godmother to them.
Mrs. Crowley, too, had Lillie Warren, the milliner,
make her a new bonnet ; and for the first time in
years she listened to Lillie's persuasions, and had
the heavy bands of crepe removed from her flowing
black veil.
"I wouldn't give up the black/' she said to Aggie
Kelly, "and I'd feel lost without my widow's veil. But
as Lillie said, pleased as Patrick would be that I showed
the proper respect for him all these years, still he would
be mortified if he thought I went off to a place like
New York, that's full of style, looking like a guy. He
62 HERSELF ;
was always a very neat dresser, Aggie, and he liked to
have me look nice. I never had much of a heart for
clothes after he went ; and I suppose my bonnet was
way out of style, although I had Lillie make it over
every other year. Anyway she coaxed me into getting
this new one, and while I was about it I thought I'd
get a new veil, too, and have her drape it for me, I
don't know will you like it when you see it ; but for
all it's not a fast looking bonnet, still it does have a
sort of kippy air about it. It's what Lillie says they call
a Mary Queen of Scotland bonnet, with a widow's peak
in the front. That was the part that appealed to me.
It's just a little flat sort of thing but it looks very
dressy ; and Lillie says I ought to get some pearl button
earrings to go with it. She says pearls are mourning."
"I'm dying to see it," protested Aggie. "I saw Mrs.
Killoran's new coat last night. It's such a pretty soft
shade of blue. She says the hat just matches ; but that
wasn't quite ready. I'm going over there tomorrow
to have a look at the hat."
Mrs. Crowley and Mrs. Killoran had planned to
leave on the noon train from Providence on Spy
Wednesday. Paul McDonoughue had offered to drive
them from Millington to Providence.
Mary Ellen Shea, however, caused the travellers to
change their plans hastily; for when Mary came to
Mrs. Crowley's house Palm Sunday afternoon to braid
Mrs. Crowley's fronds of palm, an art at which she was
an adept, she said that her brother, Dinnie, was very
upset that the two women were not going to New York
by boat.
Dinnie Shea for years had been bow watch on the
famous Sound steamers that ran from Millington to
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 63
New York. Dinnie the Bow we called him affection-
ately in the parish, to distinguish him from the other
Dennis Sheas in the city. He was proud of his years
of service on the famous old Millington line, and had
always been, even in the days of his retirement, a great
booster for the steamship company. He had no pa-
tience with anyone from Millington who as much as
considered travelling to New York by 'the steam cars/
by 'bus, or by automobile. There was only one way to
go to New York, Dinnie considered, and that was the
right way by the night boat.
As everyone knew, the famous Millington line had
not paid its way in several years ; and notice had al-
ready been posted in the New York and Millington
newspapers that service was to be discontinued. The
date of the final trip from Millington had not been
announced, however, when Mrs. Crowley and Mrs.
Killoran had made their plans for their journey. For
that reason, since it had seemed more than probable
that the steamship line would no longer be operative
on Spy Wednesday, the day of their voyaging, they had
decided to go to New York by train from Providence.
They knew of old that Dinnie Shea always took it as a
personal insult if any of his friends journeyed by train
rather than on his beloved steamships ; but in this case,
they felt, the matter had been decided for them by the
steamship line authorities.
The whole trouble was, Mary Shea confessed as her
deft fingers neatly wove the palm fronds into an eight-
stranded braid, the whole trouble was, that it had just
been announced that on Spy Wednesday night, of all
nights, the steamers were to make their last run. The
Girl of Plymouth was to leave the Steam Boat wharf
64 HERSELF :
in Millington, make its customary stop at Newport,
and then steam down the sound for the last time ; and
the Girl of Plymouth, of the boats of the line, was by
all odds Dinnie's favorite. She was the oldest of the
Millington line ships. Dinnie had joined her first as
an apprentice, and had spent his last years before re-
tirement as her bow watchman. He truly loved the
Girl. Now that he was ashore he watched the news-
papers carefully for the dates of her sailings from Mill-
ington. On those nights he hobbled early to the Look-
out in the park on the city's southern slope, and with
his glasses watched the Girl of Plymouth, a blaze of
lights, glide slowly by below him in the bay until she
had rounded the last headland and had completely dis-
appeared. "Honestly," Mary Ellen used to say, "if
that boat had been a real girl, I think he would have
married her."
"If it had been any other boat but the Girl/' Mary
told Mrs, Crowley and Mrs. Killoran, "I know he
would not feel so bad about your going by train. But
as far as he can find out he was down at the agent's
office to see Johnny Parks there isn't a soul from the
parish has reserved a stateroom for that last trip. He'd
go himself in a minute, but he's got another attack of
the rheumatism, and it's as much as he can do to get
from his bed to the chair. But, he feels terrible . . .
really he does. I know it's silly and all that . . . but
if you could listen to him, Mrs. Crowley, it would
break your heart, honestly it would. He has just got it
into his head that Millington and the parish espe-
ciallyhas got to be represented on that last trip.
You know you must have seen it in the papers
how all the big society people are making a special trip
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 65
down just to take that last trip back coming all the
way from New York by airplane some of them, just to
be in on that last boat ride. And reading about that
has Dinnie upset all the more."
"Well, indeed, Mary Ellen, we wouldn't go against
Dinnie in a thing like that, would we, Maria ?" Mrs.
Patrick Crowley answered at once. "If it's somebody
to go on the boat to New York is all he wants, and
we're going to New York anyway that day ... in-
deed, we'll go on the boat."
"Oh, Mrs. Crowley, honestly, I think it will save
his reason. You've no idea how he has been going on
about it. Oh, he hasn't been blaming you for taking
the train. He thought himself the boats would have
stopped running before this. But he has been moping
so, and grieving so, that he can't go himself, that, really,
I had half a mind to have Father Will in to talk to
him, to see if that wouldn't do any good, and put some
sense in his head. Men are such babies, I declare.
He warned me not to say a word to the two of you,
but I never could keep my mouth shut, and now I'm
certainly glad I didn't."
"At that, I wouldn't want to miss the like of it, from
what it says here in the paper," Mrs. Crowley told Mrs.
Killoran Monday evening. "We'll be right up with
the best of them for once in our lives ; and Johnnie
Parks says the stateroom he sold us this morning was
the last one going. It says here that 'Mrs. George
Jersey Wallace, the noted whip, will tool her coach
with a party from Newport to Millington and board
the Girl of Plymouth there. Gala parties are also be-
ing arranged by the Henry Smith-Watsons, the Robert
V. Flemings, the Duchess of Oxbridge, who is com-
66 HERSELF :
ing by 'plane from Miami today wasn't she one of the
Vanbertons, Maria ? There was one of them married
a Duke, although I don't think it turned out very well
after the Percy Potters, and Mrs. Ryn von Clede.
"Goodness, Maria, it will be a great show for two
like ourselves. There's one good thing about it though,
at that. With all this hulla-balloo, no one will pay
any attention to our going. That was the one reason
I liked the idea of driving to Providence with Paul. I
didn't want anybody to feel they had to come seeing us
off. If they come itself now, they'll be so taken up
with looking at the style that they won't know whether
we're there or not."
"Do you think it's right in Holy Week," Mrs. Killo-
ran's tone was very dubious, "to be taking a fancy trip
like that ? 1 know it doesn't mean anything to those
people . . . although I think that that Mrs, von
Clede ought to be a Catholic her mother was a Mur-
phy. But mightn't we be giving scandal to be joining,
in with them ?"
"A fat lot we'll be asked to join in with them," Abbie
Crowley retorted. "It might be a good thing for the
likes of them to see two decent Christian women be-
having themselves. That's if they're thinking of cut-
ting up at all. Nonsense, Maria, we're only travelling.
What's more, we wouldn't be taking the boat at all r
only to do right by Dinnie Shea. You're allowed a lot
of privileges when you're travelling. You can even eat
meat on a Friday if there shouldn't be fish. I heard a
mission father say that, one time ; that the Pope would
allow it."
"Well, I don't think he should, then," answered
Mrs. Killoran, "and I don't think much of the mission
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 67
father for repeating a story like that, even if it is true,
which I doubt very much. But I am kind of looking
forward to the trip at that ; and as you say, we'll be able
to slip away unnoticed."
That too might have happened, had it not been for
the new life and renewed vigor their ready consent to
change their plans had brought to Dinnie the Bow
Shea. Such a weight of disappointed grieving was
lifted from his mind then at once that he hardly minded
the ever-recurring rheumatic twinges in his knee. He
insisted he was well enough to get up and go out on
Monday morning, although when she had left him
Sunday afternoon to go braid Mrs. Crowley's palm, he
had told Mary Ellen that he was sure he was not long
for this world. Monday morning was bright and fair,
so Mary Ellen could not find it in her heart to remind
him that the day before he had claimed that he was at
death's door.
He marched down the street happily to join his cro-
nies, old Ned Meehan, Larry O'Toole and James Kielty
at Angels' Fold, the little park by Holy Name hall that
Father Will had set aside for the sunning of the old
men of the parish. His march was far from militant
and might have been considered more of a hobble, but
to his mind he was stepping along very jauntily.
"It just goes to show," he nodded sagely at the group
on the green benches in the Fold, "it just goes to show
what good news can do for a fellow. Yesterday it was
all I could do to stir in bed, the pain that was on me.
Today, while I brought the black thorn stick along, I
hardly had to touch it to the ground, my legs feel that
easy."
"Indeed, and we looking at you coming up the walk.
68 HERSELF :
I says to Larry, I says/ 7 Ned Median agreed, "will you
look at the walk on that fellow ? He have the skip of
a goat, and we thinking he'd be prayed for almost any
Sunday, now/'
"It took a great load off my mind, Neddie/' Dinnie
explained, "when I knew the Girl was to have some of
our own people aboard her for the last time she'll be
sailing. I had my heart set, that someway ^or other
we'd be represented; and sure, you couldn't pick a
better one for the representation than Abbie Crowley.
To have her make that trip I consider a great compli-
ment to myself and the Girl of Plymouth. Indeed,
Fll be down there on the dock early to be waving her
'bon voyage/ as we say on the sea. Will you fellows
come along with me ?"
"I'd not miss it, the way the papers are cracking it
up/ 7 said old Ned, "although I said to Larry here I
wouldn't go poking myself in to a thing like that un-
less I knew someone who was going on the boat I
wouldn't have any of them Astors or Vanderbilts see-
ing me there and looking down their noses at me,
thinking I was just there through plain curiosity/ 7
"No, that wouldn't be right and proper," Dinnie
conceded. "I kind of figured that. I thought if I was
well enough I might go down to the steamboat wharf
myself ; but of course I'd be going in a more or less
official capacity. I'd wear my old uniform cap, so
none of them big bugs would think I was only there to
gawk at them.
"But the way it is now, I think we all ought to go
down ; and if you see Paddy Dailey or Johnnie Riordan
invite them to come, too. We ought to have a little
delegation."
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 69
The "little delegation/' in the course of that day and
the next, began to grow by leaps and bounds. Dinnie
felt so healthy and happy that he ploughed up and
down the parish, greeting everyone he ever knew and
inviting them, one and all, to the wharf to bid farewell
to Mrs. Crowley and Mrs. Killoran on the historic oc-
casion of the last sailing of the famous Girl of Ply-
mouth.
Nor was Dinnie the only one spreading the good and
the friendly word. Aggie Kelly, although she very
well knew that Mrs. Crowley and Mrs. Killoran wished
to slip away from Millington quietly that, indeed, it
was to escape unwelcome publicity that Mrs. Crowley
was making the trip soon began to think that it was
a darn shame that, with all the jubilification the society
passengers were planning, her own two close friends
were sailing unnoticed and ignored. The very least
we could do, thought Aggie, turning a deaf ear to her
conscience and her promise to Mrs. Patrick, is to give
them a real bang-up send-off.
With Aggie to think was to act. Hers was the way
of Martha rather than of Mary ; the doctrine of faith
without good works had no appeal for her. She was
a born worker ; and in less than twenty-four hours she
had organized not one but several delegations of her
own to wave goodbye to the parish voyagers.
Fortunately for both Aggie's and Dinnie's plans,
Mrs. Crowley and Mrs. Killoran were so busy with last-
minute preparations that no faint echo of any plans to
honor them reached their ears. Mary Ellen Shea half
guessed that her brother was up to something ; but he
insisted stoutly that just himself and a few of the boys
were going down to see the boat out ; and although
yo HERSELF :
Katie Sullivan soon discovered that Aggie Kelly was
marshalling her forces for a farewell party at the dock,
she had no idea that Aggie had gone to any great
lengths in the matter. She did not bother to tell Mrs.
Crowley about it when she stopped by Wednesday
afternoon "to see if there wasn't some little thing I
could still do to help you get off."
"Not a thing, Katie, thank you very kindly. My
trunk got off this morning. We don't know how long
well stay. . . Maria says only two weeks for her at the
most, but I told John Killoran I might coax her to stay
longer, and he said go ahead. They all want her to
have a real good vacation. So I decided to pack the
trunk, and take that along as well as my dress suitcase.
I put in a pair of my own feather pillows . . . you
wouldn't know but those in a hotel might be very hard
. . . and of course they took up a good bit of room.
So it wasn't hard filling the trunk. You saw my bon-
net ? Well, I stopped into the five-and-ten yesterday
when I was down street, and 1 bought me a couple of
pair of the pearl button earrings Lillie Warren was
telling me about. You can hook one set on for me
before you go. Of course, my ears aren't pierced, but
these just screw on. And they do look very genteeL
I thought I might get me a string of pearl beads to go
with them when I get to New York, a good pair. . .
Yd be willing to pay a couple of dollars for them. As
Lillie says, you can wear pearls with anything. They
never go out of style. Are you coming to the boat,
Katie ? I was saying to Maria 111 be feeling kind of
lost at that if no one comes down, for all I wanted no
fuss. But shell have her John and the girls, so I
thought Fd ask you to come down and Mary Shea*
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 71
She was in this morning to see if I wanted anything.
I was going to ask Aggie Kelly, but I declare I don't
know what's happened to her. I haven't seen her
since Sunday."
"Oh, shell be at the boat/' Mrs. Sullivan said at
once, relieved that Mrs. Crowley had changed her
mind about the great desirability of "slipping away
without a soul knowing a thing about it," her former
emphatically expressed wish.
Paul McDonoughue drove up for Mrs. Crowley at
seven o'clock. The Girl of Plymouth was to sail at
eight, and would probably, on this especial occasion, not
draw in her hausers until a half hour later. Strick ad-
herence to schedule no longer mattered. It was but a
ten-minute drive from Mrs. Patrick Crowley's house on
Division Street to the wharf where the boat was docked,
even counting on a delay at Killoran's. Mrs. Killoran
and John were to ride with Mrs. Crowley in Paul's
car ; the girls were to take a taxi.
Mrs. Crowley however had insisted on getting to
the boat with time to spare. She disliked being hur-
ried ; and, from stories in the daily newspaper, there
would be much to see on board the boat and on the
wharf before the "Going Ashore" signal. "It ought to
be as good as a show, by the paper/' she told Paul as
they drove down Division Street. "I want to get a look
at that duchess. I never saw one before ; and I think
I can tell her from her pictures. She has a very long
neck, they say."
"The better for her 'to see you with/" Paul
laughed.
"Pooh, no one will be looking at Maria and me/'
retorted the old lady.
72 HERSELF :
"They'll probably take you for the duchess. You
never can tell/' said Paul. "Those earrings you have
on give you sort of a duchess-y look at that."
"Go 'way/' said Mrs. Crowley, absurdly pleased at
the compliment.
"You know I think there'll be quite a few people at
the boat, at that/' John Killoran said in an aside to
Paul, when his wife, dimpling with pleasure at the
compliments the young attorney and Mrs. Crowley
immediately called out, had seated herself comfortably
in the car. Her soft white hair was framed by the
most fetching of hats of the same rich blue as her
twinkling Irish eyes. And her blue coat was "so classy/*
said Mrs. Crowley, "it puts me in the shade."
"Yes/' continued Mr. Killoran to Paul, as the two
women chatted as eagerly as if they had not been in
and out to each other all day, "I didn't tell Maria, I
thought I'd save it for a surprise ; but Father Will said
he'd take a walk down with the boys, Dinnie Shea and
the rest. Dinnie is quite elated at the honor."
The way to the pier led down the hill past the
Church of Our Lady of Cracow. It was Mrs. Crow-
ley's keen eyes that first espied the unusual activity
that seemed to be going on in the churchyard.
"I wonder what's up," she said interestedly to Maria.
"I didn't hear tell of anything, did you ? Aggie Kelly
said nothing about any doings at the church when she
was in last. But will you look at all the people ! It's
some big celebration they're having, sure. Would this
be Saint Stanislaus' Day, I wonder ? I usually look at
the holy calendar every morning to see whose day it
would be, but this morning I never once thought of it.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 73
"Go slow, Paul, past the grounds until I can look
and see if I can catch sight of Father Krasnowski. If
you spot him, anybody, sing out. I'd like to wave
goodbye to him. He's such a dear little priest that I
think there must be Irish in him away back, Maria.
On the mother's side, of course, since the name isn't.
"My goodness, it looks like quite a celebration !
It's a wonder Aggie didn't mention it. There's the
band all lined up there in the schoolyard, in full regalia.
Slow down, Paul, so we can get a good look at them !"
John Killoran reached back and lowered the window
that Mrs. Crowley might poke out her bonneted head
and scan the crowded churchyard for Father Krasnow-
ski. Paul slowed the car to snail's pace, and blew the
horn loudly to attract attention.
"There he is by the grotto !" called out Mrs. Crowley
excitedly. "Honk the horn again so he'll look this
way. Yoo-hoo, Father ! Oh, now he sees us ! But
where he is going ? He's gone off the other way. He
couldn't have known me in this bonnet. Oh, dear !"
Every other man, woman and child in the church-
yard had recognized Mrs. Crowley, however, for they
all turned toward the car, waving at her and crying out
greetings in Polish. She felt very hurt that Father
Krasnowski was ignoring her. Surely, the cries of his
people had apprised him who it was. Yet the little
priest, after a moment of staring at the automobile, had
turned .his back, and picking up the skirts of his cassock
had run to the farthest corner of the churchyard where
the bandmen stood at ease, smoking and talking among
themselves.
An imperative signal to move on, that they were
blocking traffic came from the horn of an automobile
74 HERSELF :
behind them in the narrow street. Paul speeded up
the car. Mrs. Crowley made a few last frantic waves
to attract Father Krasnowski's attention, but he was
busy with the bandsmen.
"Oh, dear !" she sighed again, disappointedly.
Maria screwed about her head for a last look through
the rear window. "He's starting up the band/' she
said. "That's probably why he couldn't come over.
The services must be about to begin. Stick your head
out again, Abbie. Everybody is waving furiously now.
Glory be ! Am I hearing things ? What's that they're
playing ?"
Mrs. Crowley did not answer for a moment. She
was head and shoulders out the car window, waving
both hands ecstatically to the people in the churchyard.
It was not until the music was faint in the distance that
she answered Maria's question. John Killoran and
Paul in the front seat were grinning broadly.
"I hope you know what it was by now," she said
happily. "God bless the man ! Interrupting his own
festival to play that tune for us to say goodbye. The
Wearing of the Green 1 That was a lovely thought,
and a lovely gesture, Maria. Beautiful, indeed. I'm
more than ever pleased I left a cheque with Banker
Davis for him for new figures for his Christmas
crib. . ." She broke off suddenly. "Oh, dear," she
said ruefully, "I didn't mean to tell that."
"Say, listen, lady, are you sure you left yourself
enough money for a trip ?" said John Killoran, turning
around and laughing at her. "I guess I can stand it if
Maria here goes haywire and sends back for more
money ; but I don't know that I want the two of you
on my hands."
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 75
"Pooh, Til never miss the little I gave Father
Krasnowski anyway/' Mrs. Crowley answered good-
naturedly. "It was nothing at all when you come
right down to it. And money couldn't buy the thrill
I got when I heard Taddy dear, and did you hear . . /
come out of those brass horns. I do think 111 send
him another little cheque for the band."
"Save your money to buy Brooklyn Bridge/' grinned
John. "I don't know whether you'll land home with
that or the Empire State Building, the way you're
starting."
" 'What's it to you, whether or no ?' " she quoted
back to him with an impudent grimace.
The Millington Line wharf-shed was crowded with
excited groups and knots of people as they passed
through in the wake of the porter who had comman-
deered their hand luggage ; but Mrs. Crowley, eagerly
scanning each cluster of men and women, could see
no one whom she knew. "I do hope, Maria, that
somebody shows up," she said, disappointedly peering
about. "Seeing no one makes me feel very forlorn.
Mary Shea and Aggie had a right to come down. I
wanted no fuss, but still and all, you'd think someone
would think enough of us to be here."
"It's early yet," Mrs. Killoran reminded her as John
and Paul assisted them up the uneven, carpet-covered
gangplank floor.
Their stateroom was on the second deck, an inside
cabin. Mrs. Crowley found it very satisfactory.
Johnnie Parks, the steamship agent, had done very well
by them ; she was very pleased with him, she said. As
she carefully explained, to Paul's amusement, the
j6 HERSELF :
stateroom was high enough above the water to enable
a body to go still higher if the boat started to sink and
it was inside which would guard them against possible
collision, and also from the damp night sea air.
Johnny Parks had been very thoughtful, indeed.
Paul and John went on deck to watch for the arrival
of Mary and Theresa. The two women promised to
join them as soon as their suitcases were unpacked.
Even for a short overnight journey their tenets as
housewives of the first order, cordon bleu, grand corn-
mandery, made it imperative that everything in their
luggage be taken out and shaken out, even if it must
be repacked in a few hours. Mrs. Crowley, indeed,
had a great mind to send the porter for her trunk that
that might be unpacked, too, and its contents aired.
It was with difficulty that Maria restrained her.
Mary and Theresa were with their father and Paul
when the two women finally had everything arranged
to their satisfaction. The wharf-shed now was
crowded with sightseers. Red caps burdened down
with luggage had to force their way through the
crowds to make passage for their patrons. The broad
parking space by the little red brick wharf station was
packed close with automobiles.
"But, oh, dear !" lamented Mrs. Crowley, looking
down upon the thronged wharf, "with all those people,
there's not a single soul you'd know/'
"It is funny at that/' said John Killoran aside to
Paul. "I can't even catch a sight of Dinnie and the
lads. And I thought sure some of the "girls' from the
Altar and Rosary would be on hand."
The passengers clambering over the gangplank were
gay and festive, and the crowds on the wharf greeted
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 77
each new arrival with cheers. Mrs. Crowley pointed
out the McPartland girls, Jane and Nancy, coming on
the boat accompanied by a laughing, shouting bevy
of girls and young men.
'That's the society crowd from up on the Hill is
with them/' she commented. "'Those are the Junior
Leagues, and Jane and Nancy, I hear tell, are candi-
dates or novices or whatever they call it. They're not
even rightly joined yet ; but look at the way the whole
crowd comes down to see them off. And me presi-
dent of the Altar and Rosary for over forty years, and
not one of the girls down to wave me 'goodbye/ It
just goes to show, and I feel very hurt/'
"There's still plenty of time," Theresa Killoran be-
side her at the rail patted her hand comfortingly.
"Oh, look, look down Water Street look past the
station quick ! It's that Mrs. Wallace driving her
coach. You know it was in the paper. Oh, say,
isn't that grand ! Just look at it come down the
street/'
"She knows how to handle horses, that one/' said
her father. "That's very neat driving now, let me tell
you. I guy, but they're beautiful horses."
The four dapple greys, their heads arched proudly,
their feet rising and falling in superb rhythm, turned
the corner of the street at the station and trotted on
toward the wharf, the great yellow coach behind them
lumbering shakily over the cobblestones.
"See, see," cried Theresa, "they're pushing the
people back. She's going to drive right onto the
wharf. Oh, say, this is great ! Look, Ma, can you see
her look, come over this way ! She's all rigged out
in a hunting outfit, a coaching outfit I suppose you'd
78 HERSELF :
call it ; and all the people on top yes, and inside,
too, I just saw someone stick their head out the win-
dow they're all dressed like the Gay Nineties. Oh,
say, this is simply swell ! Look at those hats, Mary,
just look at that woman with the pink plume."
"That one in the bonnet, Maria/' John Killoran was
craning over the rail, "the bonnet with those blue
flowers. Do you see there, behind the driver ? Isn't
that like your wedding bonnet, now ?"
"Oh, John," said Mrs. Killoran. She grabbed his
arm and hugged it tightly, "that you should remem-
ber !"
Straight down the wharf came the coach and four.
The sixteen ironshod hooves beat a fanfare on the
wooden flooring. The groom atop the coach raised
his postillion horn and blew a clear sweet call that was
all but lost in the delighted roar of the crowd. Mrs.
Wallace drew up the horses easily, just opposite the
gangplank, and raised her whip in salute to the Maid
of Plymouth. From the pilot house the captain as
gallantly signalled, and three sharp toots from the
boat's whistle acknowledged the salute. Mrs. Wal-
lace sprang easily and lightly from the box of the coach
to the wharf, throwing the reins to the coachman who
had been seated beside her. A groom leaped to the
horses' heads to quiet them. Another footman quickly
placed a ladder against the coach that the guests might
descend.
"Oh, it's like something out of a book," said
Theresa. "It's like Cinderella or the Coronation or
something, isn't it, Mrs. Crowley ?"
"I never saw a prettier sight," acknowledged the
old lady, who had been strangely quiet. "I'm only
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 79
sorry I didn't think of something like that myself.
That's the way to do it ! If it's going to be a wedding
let it be a wedding, that's what I say. Do you know
what it takes me back to, Maria ? do you remember,
John ? to the night of your wedding. The whole
lot of us, Tessie and Mary, hired Mike Doherty's mov-
ing barge, the Hattie B. Chase, and followed after
your mother and father they were in one of Clancy's
hacks right down here to the boat to see them off
for New York. Seeing that coach puts me in mind
of that wild ride in the Hattie B. Chase ; there must
have been a good forty of us. Remember, Maria ?"
"Will I ever forget it ?" said Mrs. Killoran tenderly.
"Thirty years, John," she looked up at him with a
tearful but happy smile, as she felt his arm go quickly
about her waist.
"Thirty good and grand years/' he leaned over and
whispered to her.
"But not a sight nor a sound of anybody down to-
night to see us off," went on Mrs. Crowley. She had
seen John's arm go about Maria's waist. Money or
no money, she thought, I am a lonely old woman.
Maria has John and the girls, and I have neither chick
nor child. Even my friends seem to have deserted
me.
The steamboat train from Boston whistled in the
distance as it switched into the spur track to the wharf.
In a few moments the puffing black engine appeared in
view, its bell clanging. Again the red caps rushed
back and forth from the coaches to the boat, and
crowds of merry passengers swept along the pier.
The coaches emptied, the engine slowly backed the
long train of cars off the dock. The onlookers
8o HERSELF :
swarmed at once into the space left by the receding
train. From the boat deck above them, streamers of
gaily colored paper ribbon were hurled down to the
wharf, and thrown gaily back. Men with tin horns
and women with miniature watchmen's rackets be-
gan raising a great din all over the boat.
"Here's some serpentine, Mrs. Crowley/* said Paul,,
who had slipped away for a moment. "I got it from
one of the porters. Here, Mary ; here, Theresa.
Want some, Mrs. Killoran ? Let's see how far you
can hurl it, Mrs. Crowley ? Let's see what kind of
pitcher you are ?"
"Ah, boy, I've no one out there to hurl it to," said
Mrs. Crowley sadly. "I don't know a soul/'
Somewhere off in the distance a band was playing.
It could hardly be heard above the roar of the crowds
on the boat and the wharf ; but, ever occasionally as
the noise would die down, the faint strains of cornets
and trombones blowing sounded forth clearly. That
part of the crowd of onlookers massed at the end of
the wharf near the station suddenly turned, and ran
toward Water Street. Almost at once they gave a
spontaneous cheer that rose above all the other noises
of people shouting and calling to each other.
"Something seems to be happening up the street
there/' John Killoran said. "It's maybe another
coach/'
"And me/' Mrs. Crowley was bitter, "that could
have had the pick of any horse and team in Clancy's
livery. We had a right, Maria, to come down late
and to come by carriage. At least then we wouldn't
be ignored."
"Forget it, Abbie," consoled Mrs. Killoran. "Some-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 81
thing must have happened, or the girls from the so-
dality would have been down. We'd look nice rid-
ing down in a piano-box buggy, now wouldn't we ?
a couple of old show-offs."
"Well, I wouldn't even mind if it was only kids
running after us making fun of us, so long as we
weren't ignored this way."
"You know very well, Abbie, you wanted no fuss.
You wanted to slip away, you know you did."
"Well, I didn't know it was going to be like this,
did I ? And I never before knew everybody so ready
to take what I said for Gospel. They might know I
didn't mean it/'
"Holy Jumping Jehosaphat," yelled Paul, "there
comes the band ; and it's the Polish band ! It's the
Knights of Cracow ! And there's a whole slew of
people with banners and flags marching after it. Some
prominent Pole must be making the trip."
"Well, at least I have that to think of," Mrs. Crowley
nodded her head vigorously and proudly. "They
played The Wearing of the Green for me, them Poles,
when I passed by tonight. I'll hold that in my heart
for them, I'll tell you."
"Why, that's what the band is playing now,"
Theresa Killoran turned a wondering face to her
mother. "That's The Wearing of the Green, Ma."
Paul and Mary had raced to the bow of the boat
to get a better view. In a moment Paul was dashing
back, dodging in and out of the crowd like a broken
field runner. He was waving his arms and yelling
frantically,
"Mrs. Crowley, Mrs. Crowley, it's your gang, it's the
crowd down to see you off ! Father Will and Father
82 HERSELF :
Krasnowski are marching on ahead ; and practically
everybody is in the crowd behind the band. They've
even got a moving van/'
"I guy, Abbie, it's the Hattz'e B. Chase/' shouted
John Killoran. "Here, Paul, give me a hand here.
Boost her up on the rail so she can see."
"They're marching onto the wharf !" cried Paul.
"Can you see them now, Mrs. Crowley ? Mr. Killo-
ran, that's Davis, the banker, marching with the priests.
Can you see alright, Mrs. Crowley ?"
"I can't see a thing for the mist in my eyes/' said
the old lady tremulously. "Let me down for a minute
and give me one of your big handkerchiefs, son. I'll
be all right. Just let me wipe my eyes, behind Maria
here, where no one will see me."
Once again the great crowd on the wharf parted ;
and up the pier marched Father Krasnowski and Father
Will and Henry Davis, the red and white uniformed
band of the Knights of Cracow blaring forth a quick-
step behind them ; and after the band in marching
order Dinnie Shea and Larry O'Toole and John Rior-
dan at the head of a vast concourse of people. Mrs.
Crowley sighed happily, "Everybody I ever knew from
the time I was a baby."
She waved in turn to Sullivans, Harringtons and
Sheas, to Murphys, McDermotts, McLaughlins, Flynns
and Devines, to O'Hearns and McCloskeys, Casey s
and Connorses, Driscolls, Dwyers, Farrens, Foleys and
Shaughnessys. She pointed out Dan Geoghegan, the
boss weaver, and Hilary Sweeney, the painter. Will
Harding, the druggist, was there and Tom Mulvey, the
letter carrier. From the Portuguese parish of Ecce
Homo were a group of the Silvias, the Oliveiras and
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 83
the Botelhos ; plump Jan Wotcek, Father Krasnowski's
sexton, headed the Polish people who had waved to
her earlier in their churchyard.
Jake Rubinovitch wriggled his way through the
crowd to the fenced edge of the wharf, ample Mrs.
Rubinovitch puffing and laughing in his wake. "Oy,
oy, Mrs. Crowley, that you may have health and no
seasickness/' his voice shrieked out above the tumult.
Minna Rubinovitch waved her handkerchief happily.
Everyone was so eager to push forward on the
wharf, that they might see Mrs. Crowley and be seen,
that it was some time before a space could be cleared
for the triumphal entry of the Hattie B. Chase. The
colored porters, relieved of their duties, and enjoying
the excitement hugely, worked strenuously with the
wharf policemen to make way for the two champing
Percheron horses ; and finally, with a flourish as gal-
lant as that in which Mrs. Wallace had tooled her
coach to a stop, the great barge rolled on up the
wharf to the gangplank, Aggie Kelly sitting proudly
up on the box beside Phil Dineen, the driver.
"There are the girls, Abbie 1" Mrs. Killoran's soft
voice rose excitedly. "That's who is in the Ha ttieB. . .
It's the Altar and Rosary and the senior choir. There's
Mary Ellen just climbing out, and Katie Sullivan be-
hind her. Give a yoo-hoo, Abbie, so they'll see us."
"They can't miss you," John Killoran was grinning
broadly. "You're the cy-nosure of all eyes. See,
they're waving."
"They're pointing down towards the gangplank,
Ma," said Theresa. "They're going to come on board.
Come on, let's go down to the saloon. Come on, Mrs.
Crowley."
84 HERSELF :
"And leave the rest of these dear blessed people ?
Not on your life I" was the answer. "You go down
and bring the girls up. I'm going to stay here and
wave until the arm drops off of me/'
"No, they're turning them back at the plank/' Mary
called. "It's too late. They're giving the 'All Ashore'
call. Come on, Father, we'd better be getting off,
too."
Paul nudged Mrs. Crowley gently on the arm.
"Here's someone coming to say 'goodbye.' " The two
priests and the banker were hurrying along the deck.
"It took all this time to get up here/' said Father Will
as he came within speaking distance. "The boat is
so jammed with passengers and visitors that we
couldn't get through. A safe and a happy trip, Mrs.
Crowley, Mrs. Killoran God bless the two of you
and bring you safely home/'
"God bless you both/' smiled Father Krasnowski.
"If you run into any difficulties at all wire or tele-
phone me at once/' said Davis, shaking hands hur-
riedly.
"Las' ca-a-all. A-a-11 a-shore that's go-o-ing asho-ore.
Las' call/' the porter's voice sounded warningly. Mrs.
Killoran hugged and kissed John and the girls
quickly ; Mrs. Crowley shook hands again with Father
Will and Father Krasnowski ; Mary and Theresa leaned
over and kissed her ; Paul and Mrs. Killoran were shak-
ing hands, then Paul reached over and lifted Mrs.
Crowley off her feet with a hug. She was weeping
happily; but as Paul let her down, she saw Henry
Davis standing alone, a little apart from the group.
And with a sudden impulse the old lady refused his
proffered hand and drew his head down to kiss him
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 85
on the cheek. In another moment, the two women
were alone on the deck, watching the crowds again,
waving through their tears.
The gangplank was drawn ashore just a minute after
Father Will in the vanguard had dashed lightly down
it. The sailors began to lift the nooses of the great
hausers from the bollards on the wharf. Serpentine
streamed down from every section of every deck of
the boat. The band on the wharf struck up Auld
Lang Syne and the crowd joined in with a will.
The boat drew slowly away from the pier. The
crowd which had been screaming and shouting and
yelling frantically was suddenly quiet. The band be-
gan another air ; but only the group of women and
girls massed about the Hattie B. Chase joined in sing-
ing the refrain. Their fresh, sweet voices rose ap-
pealingly as the crowds on the wharf hushed their
shouting, and the passengers on the boat stilled their
farewells to listen.
" Tis a hymn/' said Mrs. Crowley, "and 'tis the
hymn I love best. That's Aggie's doing, Maria. Lis-
ten now to that."
High rose the poignant melody :
"Ave Sanctissima, we lift our souls to thee,
Ora pro rzobis I 'Tis nightfall on the sea
Watch us while shadows lie, far o'er the water spread. . .**
CHAPTER IV
ITH serene and stately dignity, the Girl
of Plymouth moved slowly out into her
passage, and headed for the last time
down the bay. Faintly from the wharf
as the great white ship turned came
closing phrases of the hymn :
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, hear.
Ora pro nobis, the wave must rock our sleep,
Ora, Mater, ora, Star of the Sea/'
The blinking light on the reef of Bowen's Flats
winked and turned, winked and turned as the Girl
moved slowly by, but its turning seemed slower than
usual. It was as though the eye of the light were
blinking sadly tonight ; and the hoarse voice of the
Girl signalling her entry into the channel and her safe
clearing of the shoals about the Flats seemed to hold
the same feeling of farewell.
On ahead, however, before the stone lookout on
the slope of the park that descended to the bay, a
merry bonfire burned. It flamed into the dark of the
sky, and by its light showed the hill crowded with
people, watching for the Girl to steam by for the last
time.
"Dinnie Shea will be there/' said Mrs. Crowley, pen-
sively leaning over the rail watching the bonfire blaze
always higher.
"Oh, indeed," assented Mrs. Killoran, "and as many
86
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 87
more as could pile into the Hattie B. and make a quick
drive for it, once we turned around in the stream.
They'll all be there, without doubt with bells on/'
"Glory be/' said Mrs. Crowley suddenly as the dark
sky was set afire by bursting rockets exploding into
shimmering cascades of golden light.
"Sky rockets, Maria. Aren't they pretty now against
the dark of the sky?" The deep-voiced whistle of
the Girl sounded above them, mournfully answering
the tribute.
"It sounds very sad, Maria, you'd almost think the
old boat knew. The thought that's been in my mind
and I can't get rid of it with only these camp
chairs to sit on, and all, I have the feeling of a wake."
"Don't let your imagination run riot. It wasn't
'sorry for your trouble' all the people that came down
to see us off were yelling, but 'good luck' and *bon
voyage/ I know what you mean, though. It does
seem a shame for the old boat to be sailing no more."
"Well, in a way," Mrs. Crowley persisted, "it was
like a wake, all those people coming, you might say, as
they would to a wake ho*d$e to pay their bit of trib-
ute. God knows I never felt more alive in my life
I'm not a bit tired for all I've been on my feet since
six o'clock this morning but I do feel kind of blue-
like, at that. And it is a wake, surely, for the poor
Girl of Plymouth/'
"You and your wakes. You'd give me the wffiies,
if I were at all high-strung. Time enough to talk of
wakes when the time comes. May it be a long while
off for the two of us and all connected with us.
Don't you think we ought to go in, Abbie ? We've
passed Sandy Beach now ; there's nothing more to see
88 HERSELF :
7 til we reach Newport ; and I think 111 be in bed by
that time. I'm good and tired, if you're not/'
"You go in, Maria, but I don't feel like it. ? I'm go-
ing to stay up until Newport anyway ; but I'll go in-
side and listen to the orchestra if it gets chilly out here.
Ill sit here quietly and say my beads, so Fll have that
much of my prayers said ahead. Ill try not to disturb
you when I do come in. Good night, Maria/'
She told her beads slowly and carefully as her habit
was. The sheltered coign of the deck where she sat
was quiet. Only a few stray people still remained
standing or sitting in the bow of the boat The
revelry was far removed from her. The grand saloon
where the dance orchestra was playing opened onto
the after decks. The pight air was mild, and occa-
sionally a light breeze, tippling back from the tip of
the bow brought the clean freshness of the smell of
salt water. It was pleasant to hear the soft rush of
foam lifting away from the sides of the boat.
She finished her Rosary, adding all the 'trimmings'
that had grown to be a part of it in the sixty odd years
of its nightly saying ; and rested awhile in the dark-
ness, watching the dancing of the moonlight on the
water. She had been deeply moved by the affection-
ate demonstration of farewell by her friends. Her
mind lingered tenderly on Father Will . . . such a
priestly priest, such a soggarth aroon, so wise, so gentle,
so kindly ; and Father Krasnowski so humble and yet
so fine, mingling so naturally pride in his people and
his Church, and humility in serving his God as their
shepherd. Henry Davis . . . how wrong people
were about him ... the good heart of him for all
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 89
he seemed bound to show only a banker's coldness and
suspicion. Dear fake Rubinovitch, the darling man,
truly . . . how could anybody persecute the Jews
when their religion and their Law came so alive in
every fibre of Jake's being. And Mary Shea . . . and
Aggie Kelly . . . and those sweet Oliveiras and Bo-
telhos . . . little Father Silva from Ecce Homo must
have been ill or away, or he would have come shyly
in the wake of Father Will and the Polish priest.
The dear, good blessed people ! I must try to do
something more for all of them. Surely money was
never sent me by Almighty God at my age except to
pass it on where it was needed. Was it in Hamlet,
she thought, the lines were : "Those friends you have
and their endurance tried. Grapple them to your soul
with hoops of steel/' She thought it was Hamlet.
She had seen Booth play the role twice, once with
Modjeska as Ophelia. The first time it was on the
second night of a blizzard that had swept in from the
West, and had covered Millington and the country-
side roundabout with over three feet of snow. Pat-
rick had called for her that night in a red cutter from
Clancy's. Patrick had had to carry her in his arms
across the heaped drifts, from the cutter to the broad
inside stairs of the theatre. She had worn a reseda
green surah silk dress, she remembered, with wide
bronzed velvet bows down the bustle in back ; but
she had been so muffled against the weather with a
cardigan under her dolman and a heavy shawl over it,
and her head wrapped in one fascinator after another,
that when she had finally unrolled herself in the
foyer Patrick had said, gallantly, that it was like seeing
9 o HERSELF :
a beautiful butterfly come out of a cocoon. He had
always had the gift of the blarney, she smiled to her-
self. . .
The scattered lights along the shore marking the
highroad to Newport, and an occasional lonely farm-
house, had grown closer together as she sat musing on
the past. A few more people had come into the bow.
A man at the rail close by her was pointing out parts
of the shore-line to his companion. Ahead were the
lights of Newport harbor. Soon the Girl was moving
with the majesty of a great lady past the shadowy
masses of the Torpedo Station and the Naval War
College. The man at the rail pointed out eagerly the
low riding lights of a destroyer. It was apparent to
Mrs. Crowley it was one of the boats of the Jamestown
ferry. Ordinarily she might have felt it her duty to
correct him ; but tonight she was so pleased and con-
tent with the world that she merely smiled tolerantly
as she heard him excitedly imagining gun turrets on
the squat ferry cabin.
The Girl drew in to the Newport wharf as gracefully
and as accurately as if it were her maiden voyage, and
she was merely slipping from her ways into the water.
There was no need on this last voyage to reverse the
engines and head her out, then in again, to her place.
The temperament she sometimes showed was absent.
It was a miracle of smooth, easy docking. One of the
roustabouts, nimbly catching the loop of the heavy
hauser that a seaman threw him from the GirFs lower
deck, called out approvingly, "The old gal's on her
good behavior tonight 1"
The crowd at the Newport wharf was smaller than
that at Millington, but it held the same gaiety. Men
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 9:1
and women waiting for the hausers to be made fast
and the gangplank shoved out, called up to those of
their friends on the boat who had made the longer
trip ; and the shouts of the Millington passengers
echoed down to them ; and again rollers and streamers
of serpentine flew about.
"You should have come over the road with us, and
taken the boat at Millington/' screamed a girl just a
few yards from Mrs. Crowley. "Wallace and her coach
were a knockout. More fun ! We had a simply
marvellous time ! And at Millington they had bands
out and everything for some old lady. Whistler's
Mother, Janie . . . honestly . . . they took her off
the stamp ! It was just too divine ! Simply killing !
Hurry up on ... Ted's blotto already . . . but we've
saved you a drink. . /'
The gangplank had been lowered ; a shout went up
that drowned out the girl's high-pitched screaming ;
the crowd on the wharf surged toward the boat, shak-
ing hands and kissing goodbyes to their friends on the
wharf, and yelling at those people they could identify
at the Girl's railings.
"It's really quite a celebration/' A soft musical
voice spoke at Mrs. Crowley's side. She had risen from
her camp chair and moved to a place at the rail. The
shadows prevented her from seeing the speaker clearly ;
but the woman's voice was high-bred and cultured.
Mrs. Crowley saw no harm in answering her, although
she had promised Mary Shea, who believed all strangers
were potential kidnappers or worse, not to make any
stray acquaintances. "Particularly on the boat," Mary
had insisted. "Boats are just the lurking places for
gamblers, and confidence men and women, and Rus-
9 2 HERSELF :
sian spies, everyone knows . . . boats and trains/'
Mary Ellen read each Oppenheim novel as it appeared.
Ann O'Byrne, at the public library, had a standing
order from Mary Ellen for each new tale of intrigue
that was purchased.
So, "Yes/' said Mrs. Crowley a little diffidently.
"Yes, it is."
"I so well remember/' her companion continued,
speaking with the overtones of amusement with which
a poised worldliness very often flecks backward mem-
ories, "I so well remember my very first trip on the
Girl. It was between governesses, and I had been left
behind with Ellen, my old Nana, when the family
opened the Newport house. I must have had a cold
or something of that sort, because Nana and I didn't
go to Newport until several weeks after the family.
And it was Nana chose the boat. I must have been
about four, and I loved it. I can recall still that little
room off the passage where you step in and look down
at the engines and the great piston rising and falling.
In fact that piston fascinated me ? so that after Nana
was asleep I stole out of the stateroom for another
look at it ; and then out on deck where I enjoyed my-
self hugely, hanging over the rail and imagining mer-
maids riding the crests of the ship's wake. Naturally
it was very dangerous for a child to be clambering up
on the rail ... I might easily have lost my balance
and fallen into the water; but there was the nicest
little watchman ... I can still see him, a little old
Irishman ; at least he seemed very old from the view-
point of four. He found me on his rounds luckily be-
fore I had been out on deck long enough to be at-
tempting anything foolhardy. He brought me up to
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 93
the pilot house, and he and the pilot entertained me
royally, while the captain sent stewards scurrying all
over the ship to find out who had lost me. I thought
it was such great fun that I wouldn't tell them my
name for fear Nana would come and snatch me away
from such bliss. The little Irishman even let me put
my hands on the wheel, and I thought that I was
actually steering the boat. I felt quite grown at last.
I can even remember his name ... his first name
... it was Dennis. It was my favorite name for
my boy dolls ever afterwards. I always felt that the
man I should marry must be named Dennis ; but of
course that was just another one of those fanciful
childhood dreams that never come true. . /'
"That would be Dinriie Shea I" breathed Mrs.
Crowley. "Dinnie the Bow Watch, of course/'
The low voice was richer with amusement. "Do
you know my Dennis ? Oh, you must tell me of him.
How well do you know him ? I am keenly inter-
ested, truly. He is one of the very, very happy memo-
ries of my childhood/'
Even Mary Ellen would approve of her talking
freely to a friend of her brother, Mrs. Crowley thought
complacently, happy that she had not broken a pledge
that was already beginning to irk her. Without more
ado, in dignified little sentences, she began the story
of her good fortune, the decision to take the trip, and
Dinnie Shea's disappointment that she and her friend,
Mrs. Killoran, were not going by boat. . .
"But then you must be the one for whom the
serenade was given at Millington ?" her companion
broke in quickly.
"Yes. I am Mrs. Patrick Crowley. Mrs. Patrick
94 HERSELF :
Crowley ... of Millington," she answered simply;
but her voice held the same dignity and pride of name
and place that Charles Carroll had had at Philadelphia
in the country's infancy.
She paused., then went on, "Did you hear that girl
yelling about me, calling me 'Whistler's Mother' ?"
She spoke uncertainly, but with dignity still. Mrs.
Patrick Crowley of Millington wanted no misunder-
standing in this new acquaintanceship. It must be
made clear to Dinnie's old friend that humbleness of
station was no bar to great self-respect.
"It was a great compliment, surely/' the soft voice
answered, "no matter how idle and vapid its source.
I think every woman and every man sees in that por-
trait how very, very beautiful age may be."
There was a glint of humor in Mrs. Crowley's voice.
""I posed for that picture once when the Catholic
Woman's club at home had 'Living Pictures/ " she
said, "and I was interested enough to get a book from
Ann O'Byrne at the library and read up about the
man, himself. When I was finished with the book/'
she added dryly, "I had to admit that I seemed more
like the son than the mother. I'm afraid that at times
I have his tongue, anyway."
"I wish that I could see you. It's so dark here/' her
companion spoke impulsively. "The only objection
I would have to looking like James McNeil's mother is
that she seems so utterly accepting, so well self-
abnegating. I am afraid that I have never had great
force of spirit, myself . . . that's why, I suppose, I
admire it in others,"
"I never lacked spirit, indeed," Mrs. Crowley said.
"It might have made things easier right along if I had
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 95
less of it. But even as far back as when I was a girl,
I was always bucking up against someone or some-
thing. Today I have more sense I hope but not
very much more, I suppose, if the truth were known ;
and none at all, if my temper is aroused. I am all too
apt then to do and say things that a more sensible
woman wouldn't. I can't stand injustice, for one thing ;
and I'm always on the side of the under-dog, for an-
other."
"I think that's very creditable, Mrs. Crowley. I
like rebels. I wish that I had been born with more
rebel spirit."
"It's very well in the things that don't truly matter,"
the old lady answered slowly, "the outside things;
but the inside things, those that are closest to your
heart . , . those that are all your heart, indeed, you
have to learn to accept them. It's no use rebelling
against the will of God. You must take what He
offers you and thank Him for it. He knows best
surely.
"When I was younger it was hard for me to see it
that way ; it was a hard lesson to learn. When He
took away my Patrick, I thought that that was the
hardest cross a woman ever had to bear. He was
young we had been only fifteen years married. That
was a long time, I suppose now, for us to have had each
other; but it didn't seem so then. You see we
truly loved each other.
"I couldn't be reconciled to it. No one could talk
to me. It was too heavy a cross ; and I didn't deserve
it. I felt that way longer than I should, God pity
me ; but I finally came around. There was our boy,
you see, Patrick's and mine . . . ourDermot. For his
96 HERSELF :
sake I had to pull myself together ; and go on. I lay
sick for a long time after Patrick was taken, but it was
a sickness of the heart and mind more than of the
body. The doctors could do nothing for me. I just
laid there in the room day after day. I would talk
to no one, recognize no one not even our boy ; and
up until then, in his father's eyes and mine, the sun
rose and set on our Dermot. Then, one day, I must
have roused a little, for I recognized Dermot' s voice in
the other room. He was crying ; and the sound lifted
the veil up from me. I could hear what he was say-
ing. Maria Killoran she was Maria Brennan then,
it was before she married John had come in, as she
did every day, to tend me, and get the boy's meals ;
and Dermot was saying, over and over to her, that he
had lost his father and was going to lose his mother.
'Why don't you tell me/ he kept begging her, 'why
don't you tell me she's going to die ? I know she is, I
know she is ; and 111 be left all alone.' He was four-
teen, you see, when a boy starts to reach out to become
a man, and yet, for all that, is only a boy.
''The cry of his, that he'd be left all alone, stripped
away the veil completely ; and I lifted my cross and
trudged on."
Her companion reached along the rail and patted
her hand. "So you lived for your boy," she said with
a sharp intake of her breath. "You must be proud of
him, and he of you."
'1 am proud of my Dermot," the old lady said
steadily. "Tor he died for his country in the War
with Spain."
The hand upon hers tightened. "Mrs. Crowley,
how could you go on ? Your husband . . . the man
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 97
that loved you . . . that/' the soft, cultured voice had
bitterness, "I can understand . . . that happens . . .
that's to be faced . . . but your boy . . . your only
boy I"
"He died for his country, ma'am. He volunteered
and he went with my blessing. His father had fought
to save the Union, and his grandfather, my own father.
To be an American soldier was in his blood and in my
blood no less than in his father's. The War with
Spain was a small war they say now, and people be-
little it. But a man can give his life for his country
in a small war as readily and as surely in a small war
as in a big one ; and a German shell kills no more truly
than rotten, poisonous beef."
"Was that how your boy died ?" Horror weighed
down the words of the woman beside her.
"No matter what killed him he died for his coun-
try/' Mrs. Crowley answered steadily, but her lips
were compressed to fight back the pain that was in
her heart. The old feeling that Dermot had been
killed by his countrymen she had resolutely put aside
years ago. She knew that he would have wished it so.
"He died for his country, ma'am," she repeated firmly.
"You are a brave woman, Mrs. Crowley," her com-
panion said softly. "I wish I had half your courage."
"The years are ahead of you, alanna," said Mrs.
Crowley smiling faintly, "and in this world you have
to grow your own courage to meet what Almighty God
has in store for you. God forbid that you should
know pain or sorrow though you will, I'm afraid, it's
a woman's lot but when you do, the strength will
be there to meet it"
"Mrs. Crowley . . . may I tell you a story ?" Her
98 HERSELF :
companion spoke impulsively, rushing her words to-
gether as if to conquer her own indecision. "It's
it's about a friend. And when I tell it, will you ad-
vise me about it, what I should say to her, what she
should do ?"
Now it was Mrs. Crowley who leaned over and
patted the other woman's hand. "Tell the story, in-
deed, alanna, and my advice for what it is worth
is yours for the asking. Pll answer you fairly, as fairly
as I know how."
The woman began her story at once, hurrying her
words. "My friend a woman is unhappily mar-
ried. Hers was a manage de covenance, a marriage
of convenience, you see. Her parents arranged it.
She had great wealth, but not exactly an honored
name; and he had family and position and all that
that connotes in the social world. She was a silly
little fool when the marriage was arranged, and she
thought the world was at her feet. Position, a great
name, and wealth what more could one ask ? She
had everything she thought she wanted, all the ma-
terial things of life. She was happy enough, in her
own limited way.
"She was never in love with her husband, nor he
with her. Love was not part of the bargain. They
did have one child a boy. She refused to have an-
other, and since the first child was a boy, and could
carry on his father's name, it did not matter very much.
"She and her husband lived altogether separate
lives. He hunted and shot and sailed and all that
sort of thing ; she moved about from place to place,
London in the season, the Riviera, New York, New-
port. She had mild flirtations occasionally ; he had,
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 99
too, I suppose ; but they never amounted to anything.
The name they bear is a great name, and it was part
of their unwritten code that the name should never
be tarnished.
"Then suddenly, unbelievably, for she had controlled
her emotions for so long, she fell in love. A flirtation
with a dancing partner turned into something stronger,
so much stronger that she cannot cope with it. And
the man loves her as sincerely, I swear it.
"She is in this country now, and the man she loves
is here, too. Her husband and the boy are in Eng-
land. The man wants her to stay . . . with him.
Neither she nor the man are of your Faith, so divorce
is not unpardonable, not from that point of view. But
it is unpardonable from the point of view of the name
she bears. Divorce or open scandal either one -
will mean that never again may she see her boy. Her
husband is strong enough and righteous enough, for
that. He is a good man. And she, herself, feels the
power of the name. She was proud to accept it as
her own when she married, and its possession has
meant a great deal to her through the years ; but most
of all she wants to have the name kept clean and bright
and shining for her boy. And she cannot bear to
think of losing him.
"Yet, truly, she loves this man, and he loves her.
He is no adventurer or anything like that, but a fine
and noble man. It is only that their love is too power-
ful for them. That is why they both feel that conven-
tion does not matter. It is only man-made ; and their
love is godly.
"She tells herself that the boy will grow up and
marry, and that she will lose him, after all. Someone
ioo HERSELF :
else will take his love from her then. Is it right that
she should sacrifice herself for her son, and for the
name he bears ? Oh, it cannot be right !
"And yet not to see her boy, or to have him grow
up thinking of her as a shameful woman, is more than
she can bear. Mrs. Crowley, I trust you so and I
trust no one isn't there some way out ? God help
me, Mrs. Crowley . . . what must I do ?"
"My dear, dear girl/' Mrs. Crowley began slowly,
"no matter what I say or what I leave unsaid, the
answer after all is in your own heart. You alone
know best what is right for you to do. I understand
. . . that you do truly love this man, and that he
loves you as sincerely. I know that you love your boy,
with a great and holy love, for you are his mother.
You carried him close to your heart and felt him move
within you, you gave him birth and life, and have
watched him grow with the pride that every mother
feels. It rests with you alone if it is right to leave
him now.
"Oh, I know . . . old as I am . . how strong the
pull of love can be, how it burns and tears your heart.
I had that love for my Patrick, but God was kinder to
me than perhaps He is to you ; for that love I had for
Patrick was part of the holy love I had for Dermot
My love for my boy made my love for Patrick blessed.
"And well I know that no great and true love comes
without sacrifice. Sacrifice is the soul of love. If
you go with this man, then you will be making a sac-
rifice, but not the sort of sacrifice that will cleanse the
love you have for each other, and make it holy and
immortal; for you will be sacrificing your love for
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 101
your boy and his for you. You will be sacrificing your
boy on the altar of your own desires.
"But if you sacrificed yourself for the boy . . . ah,
that would be another thing again. Then you would
be offering up a sacrifice of your own heart to God,
and God in His wisdom would not fail you.
"You know best whether the boy needs you, but I
think you must have been a good mother to him ; and
every boy needs his mother. I don't mean just when
he's small, but when he's growing, and when he's
grown as well. He may marry ; but until he does, the
mother is the first in every good boy's heart. And I
know your boy is a good boy.
"Oh, I couldn't bear it if my Dermot thought the
smallest evil of me, if he ever felt shame because of
me. If I were married to another man and then Pat-
rick came ... I'd waste away for a thousand years
before I would hurt my boy ... no matter how hal-
lowed I thought my love for Patrick was.
"You still have your boy . . . and I have lost mine.
But the priest at the camp wrote me that all through
the fever he called my name and babbled the little
endearments he used to have for me . . . the little
pet names. And just before he died he looked up at
the priest and said . . . they were his last words, Tell
Mother I have been a good boy/ The priest wrote
that only a good mother could have such a good son.
I tried to be a good mother to him, God help me,
cross as I was at him at times, I suppose, when he'd
do something wrong, some little thing that vexed me
. . . and God was good to me that Dermot died think-
ing of me. I had his last blessing.
102 HERSELF :
"But I've missed him so all the long years . . . and
you have your boy. Oh, don't leave him, alanna;
don't leave him. God will not have it so. Be brave
and strong and sacrifice yourself ; but God pity you
. . . don't sacrifice your boy 1"
The woman beside her gave a convulsive sob. Her
hand tightened on the rail beneath Mrs. Crowley's
hand. Then she withdrew it quickly, and without
speaking, hurried away down the shadowy deck.
"The poor, poor thing," Mrs. Crowley said to her-
self. "Sure, we never know half the troubles people
are going through all around us. I only hope I said
the right thing. Duty is hard in a case like that ; but
sure her duty is towards her boy. God will be kind to
her if she can only hold fast to her duty. Ill say
another Rosary when I go downstairs that she be given
the courage to do what's right. Our Blessed Mother
will understand and help her, surely."
By the time the boat had left the Sound and was
steaming under Hell Gate bridge in the morning, both
Mrs. Crowley and Mrs. Killoran were up and dressed
and having their breakfast, anxious to be out on deck
before the boat rounded the Battery. Mrs. Crowley
was very anxious not to miss seeing the Statue of
Liberty.
The dining-room was crowded when they entered
it, early as the hour was, but they managed to secure
a small table for two, set against the windowed side
wall with an excellent view of the moving shore-line.
"They get enough for their food, certainly," said
Mrs. Crowley, scanning the menu. "Sure you could
feed a family of nine a Christmas dinner for what they
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 103
charge for a lone egg, Maria. I have a mind to speak
to the waiter about it. I paid thirty cents a dozen for
the last eggs I had from Johnnie Riordan and they
were farmers' eggs. Johnnie knows well, however
small my order may be, since Fm not a great eater
and never was, that only the best will suit me. Thirty
cents a dozen, Maria and down here I see 'eggs
Benedictine' sixty cents, no less ! Sure, that's high-
way robbery ! We hadn't ought to let them get away
with a thing like that."
"I thought you said, on the way down from the
stateroom, that all you wanted for breakfast was toast
and tea," said Maria patiently. "Don't get so excited
about other people's eggs. The crowd on this boat
can well afford to pay twice sixty cents for an egg if
they want it badly enough."
"It isn't right, just the same, Maria. It's likely
they don't know that eggs are always cheap at this
time of year ; but I know it. I don't see why they
should be charged for their ignorance. If eggs were
scarce, I wouldn't mind. Although, of course, I never
heard of Benedictine eggs. It might well be they
come from some monastery farm. If that would be
the case, I'd have nothing to say. If a share of that
money goes to holy charity I'd be the last one to com-
plain ; and the Benedictines may be a very poor order
and need the money."
Mrs. Crowley's dissertation on eggs was interrupted
by the headwaiter who asked leave, since the dining-
room was so crowded and a queue of hungry passen-
gers was already waiting for service behind the red
velvet rope barring the entrance, to set another place
104 HERSELF :
at their table. Mrs. Killoran nodded smiling assent
quickly, lest her companion bring up the matter of
Benedictine eggs.
The newcomer to the table had a brightly alert,
breezy personality. She flashed a ready smile to each
of the older women, commented snappily on the ex-
cellent weather, scanned the menu card swiftly, and
at once started writing item after item on the order
pad by the side of her service plate.
"There," she ejaculated with an air of satisfaction,
"now I won't need to buy lunch. Good old expense
account. It comes in handy. Might as well make the
most of it"
'Is that what you were doing, making out your ex-
penses for the trip ?" asked Mrs. Crowley curiously,
peering over at the order pad.
"What ? Oh ... I see. No, no. I'll make out
my expense sheet when I reach the office. This is my
breakfast orange juice, shredded wheat, scrambled
eggs, sausages, griddle cakes and syrup, toast, mar-
malade, and coffee. You see, you have to write out
your order for the waiter/'
"Do tell/ 7 exclaimed Mrs. Crowley. "Are all of these
poor fellows hard of hearing? It's as well, Maria,
that I didn't try to ask that last fellow about these
Benedictine eggs. I'd have had a terrible time mak-
ing him understand and he deaf."
"They can hear all right. It's just the system they
use to keep everything checked up. But eggs Bene-
dictine, won't you find them a little heavy so early in
the morning ? I should talk, with the meal I'm plan-
ning to stow away but in this case the woman
doesn't pay and pay and pay. The paper does/'
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 105
"Are these especially heavy eggs, these Benedictine
eggs ?" Mrs. Crowley asked interestedly.
"It's not the eggs the way they cook them/' the
newspaperwoman said affably. "They're a full meal-
Toasted English muffins, slices of ham, then dropped
eggs all gooed up with Hollandaise sauce/'
"Hmh, Maria, the Benedictines live high. They're
not like the Dominicans, then. The two of them
that preached the last Mission hardly ate a thing, so
Bessie Dailey told me. Just a cup of coffee in the
morning was all their breakfast.
"I'm glad to know that." She turned to the smiling
reporter. "I was wondering how they had the nerve
to charge sixty cents for a couple of eggs, and for all
you'd know they might well be cold storage. It's the
ham you're paying for, of course. I see that now.
Well, Maria, I'll stick to toast and tea/' She wrote
the two items on her pad in her fine spidery Spen-
cerian hand.
Their new acquaintance they discovered was a
society reporter on one of the New York newspapers,
assigned to cover the last voyage of the Girl of Plym-
outh. She chatted steadily through the meal, point-
ing out to Mrs. Crowley and Maria the celebrities and
near celebrities in the dining-room.
"The Duchess, now," interposed Mrs. Crowley
eagerly at one point. "I saw by our own paper that
there was a live duchess aboard the Duchess of Ox-
bridge. Wasn't that the one, Miss, that was old Jawn
P. Steele's daughter that the Prince of Wales came
over to the wedding ?"
"No, you're thinking of the Duchess of Wencester
she was the Steele heiress. The Duchess of
106 HERSELF :
bridge was Margot Flasket. Her father was the big
beef baron made his money in the Spanish-American
War, profiteering on army contracts. They say he was
responsible for more deaths than the Spaniards him
and his tainted meat/'
"Yes/' said Mrs. Patrick Crowley faintly. "I remem-
ber now."
"There she comes now. That's the Duchess of Ox-
bridge corning into the dining-room now. See over
there. The tall slim woman in gray. The headwaiter
is holding the rope aside for her. She certainly carries
herself like a duchess, doesn't she ?" She turned to
Mrs. Crowley and saw that she was looking away, out
of the window. "I thought you wanted me to point
her out ? Oh, I see you didn't want to stare. You
should worry; everybody else is craning their heads.
A duchess is a duchess after all, especially in demo-
cratic America. She's coming this way though, any-
way, so you can get a good look at her on the quiet.' 7
Mrs. Patrick Crowley's old eyes still fixed themselves
upon the moving shore-line. The newspaperwoman,
conscious at last that something was wrong, busied her-
self with her food.
The Duchess of Oxbridge threaded her way among
the tables with aloof graciousness, in the wake of the
headwaiter, who was more than ordinarily subservient.
She acknowledged with her eyes and slight inclinations
of her head the morning greetings of her acquaint-
ances ; but she made no move to stop at any of the
tables where chairs were eagerly pushed out for her.
Her eyes caught the black of Mrs. Crowley's bonnet
and widow's veil as she passed serenely by their table.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 107
She stopped and bent over the table quickly with a
warm and friendly smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Crowley/' she said in low
rich tones. "Good morning and thank you/'
Mrs. Crowley turned from the window. "Good
morning, my dear/ 7 she said firmly. The Duchess of
Oxbridge smiled again, without speaking, and contin-
ued her way to her table. Mrs. Killoran and the news-
paperwoman regarded Mrs. Crowley blankly.
"I never knew you knew her, Abbie/' said Mrs. Killo-
ran. "And she thanked you for something. Were
you in the way of doing her a favor last night ?"
"It may be/' was all Mrs. Crowley answered.
"So you know old 'Bad Beef Plaskett's noble daugh-
ter/' said the newspaperwoman cheerfully. "Well, I
don't suppose you can blame her for her father even
if his hands were red with soldier's blood. Still, every-
body will always think of her in terms of her father/*
"I won't," said Mrs. Patrick Crowley steadily. "I'll
think of her always in terms of her son. My own boy
would wish it that way/'
Maria Killoran shook her head gently at the news-
paperwoman to indicate that the conversation was
ended.
CHAPTER V
ACK in the Old Parish, when Constance
Casey, Mike Casey the butcher's daugh-
ter, had heard of the projected trip she
had begun at once to be very very helpful.
Connie is very travelled ; she knows all
the ropes, and should, of course, since she is very
highly educated. She has not only been to college but
has taken post-graduate courses with the Mesdames at
their convents in Paris, France, and Rome, Italy.
Connie's helpfulness is always overwhelming. It
leaves the person being assisted with the feeling that
Constance looks upon them as little more than mo-
ronic, incapable of making the slightest move without
disaster. So with her planning for Mrs. Crowley and
Mrs. Killoran. She appeared at the white cottage on
the day of sailing with a carefully charted schedule and
itinerary for the two older women to follow.
"Glory be/' said Mrs. Crowley disgustedly, when
Connie had departed, "the liveliest thing she has down
here for us to see is the fish in the Aquarium. The
nerve of that one ! Give me here that list, Maria,
until I bum it"
The carefully prepared schedule vanished then to
appear no more ; but Connie had not stopped at draw-
ing up an itinerary. She had further told Mrs. Crow-
ley enthusiastically that she knew just the place for the
two of them to stay, a little convent near Stuyvesant
Square, just the quietest and safest place in New York.
In fact, she gurgled on, not noticing Mrs. Crowley's rap-
108
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 109
Idly chilling eye, she had written to one of her college
chums who was staying at the Carroll Club to engage
a room at St. Eulalia's convent for them. Irmengarde
was taking physical culture at Columbia, and she had
already telegraphed Connie that she would meet the
two women at the boat and escort them to the convent.
Mrs. Crowley had no idea of accepting Constance's
arrangements. A convent, she told Maria, emphati-
cally, was the last place in the world she wanted to stay
on a trip to New York. " If s so quiet and safe/ she
says to me. Safe, how are you ? Does she think we'd
be kidnapped ... or lured into a harem ? At our
age ! Well then, if it comes right down to it, I don't
want to be safe. I want to go places and do things
and stay out late and see the bright lights. A lot of
fun we'd have if we had to come running back to a
convent when the six o'clock Angelus started to ring."
As the time neared for disembarking from the Girl of
Plymouth, however, Mrs. Crowley confessed herself a
little worried about the girl waiting for them on the
dock. It was difficult enough always to override Con-
stance. This girl, as Connie's chum, was undoubtedly
of the same stripe ; but worse than that, she was a
physical instructor. Mrs. Crowley mentally pictured
her as a cross between Dr. Mary Walker and a female
John L. Sullivan. Mrs. Crowley's usually stout heart
quaked at the prospect of trying to dissemble success-
fully before a woman like that.
"It wouldn't surprise me at all," she said gloomily
to Maria as they gave up their tickets at the head of
the gangplank aad prepared to leave the boat, "if this
St. Eulalia's isn't run by the Little Sisters as an old
folks' home. It would be just like that Casey girl to
no HERSELF:
think that that was just about our style. And this
Carrie Nation woman out there on the wharf lying in
wait for us, will be the type that won't take 'no' for an
answer. Shell joo-jitsoo us into a cab and have us
there before I have a chance to open my mouth."
"I'd like to see anyone who could work as fast as
that/' Mrs. Killoran's morning humor was persuasive.
Mrs. Crowley gave a dry chuckle in return, as she sig-
nalled for a red cap to carry their bags. "I would,
too/' she said.
The two women scanned the pier anxiously as they
stepped from the gangplank. They could see no one
remotely resembling the battle maiden of Mrs. Crow-
ley's vivid imagining.
"Hmnh," she gave a satisfied grunt, "we're lucky.
Our bouncing beauty isn't here. Not a hammer
thrower in sight. Come on, Maria, we'll take a taxi
uptown to the Hotel Medford. Their ad looks good
in the papers."
"Shouldn't we wait a little longer . . . give her the
benefit of a few minutes' doubt, Abbie ? She might
come looking for us at the hotel and cause a scene.
You know, I rather favor the convent."
"Well, I don't ! And I'll not stand here stupidly,
like a bump on a log, waiting for any Miss Muscle-
bound. Here, help me signal that porter."
A slim, young, rather sweet-faced girl came toward
them. She smiled shyly, and spoke hesitantly, "Are
you . . . excuse me ... by any chance Mrs. Crowley
and Mrs. Killoran of Millington ?"
Mrs. Crowley regarded her with interest. "We are/'
she said, "but don't tell me anyone your size is a weight
MRS. PATRICK GROWLEY 111
lifter. Fd never take you for a physical athlete/'
"O-oh," the girl smiled more broadly, her eyes crin-
kling with withheld laughter, "you were expecting Ir-
mengarde, weren't you ? She couldn't come, although
she had promised Connie she would ; so I volunteered.
Fm a poor substitute Fm afraid, but I do know my way
about. I am Bernadette O'Brien/'
"There's nothing wrong with that name," Mrs. Crow-
ley smiled back. She rather liked this young girl, she
decided. Easy and pleasant, free but not bold, well
mannered, and quite a beauty once you had a good
look at her. She catalogued these points in quick
keen appraisal. "Where's the other one ?" she asked.
"What's she doing? Out teaching a few holds to
Danno O'Mahoney, that she couldn't show up ?"
"Abbie !" Maria Killoran spoke reprovingly ; but the
girFs laughter rang out so joyously that she, too, had to
smile.
"Nothing quite as strenuous as that. No ; one of
her class hours at Columbia was changed to an 'eight
o'clock/ Do you mind so much ? I will do, won't
I ... and you are going to the convent, aren't you ?"
"Why do you put it that way ?" Mrs. Crowley asked
curiously.
"We-ell . . . it's rather hard to explain . . . but
you see, Fm not anywhere near as forceful and direct as
Irmengarde . . . and she was really worried about you
. . . and she was sure that Fd be late or mess things
up. I mean Fm perfectly trustworthy, but I don't do
things the way Irmengarde does. She's so direct. And
Connie painted such a picture of two such . . . such
. . . well, really, I don't think you look helpless at all,' 3 "
HERSELF:
Miss O'Brien said smilingly. "I thought you'd both be
terribly, terribly old. But you are going to the convent,
aren't you ?" she asked hopefully.
"It isn't run by the Little Sisters ?" Mrs. Crowle/s
tone was still tinged with doubt, although she smiled
as she spoke.
"Oh, dear, no. I understand what you mean . . .
we had the Little Sisters at home . . . no, it isn't just
for elderly women. I know quite a few girls who stay
there ; and the nuns aren't frightfully bad about hours
and things like that. They're really very sweet and
considerate of the girls. It's a Spanish order . . . the
Sisters of the Cross of Calvary."
"Spanish, eh ?" Mrs. Crowley was very interested.
"Then we'll go. For the rest of Holy Week, if no
longer. After that I wouldn't say. But if the Sisters
are Spanish it will give me just the chance I want to
find out the truth of things over there. I'd like that.
My father used to tell me that his own grandmother
was a woman of the Basque people. It was the great
grandfather who was the schoolmaster met and mar-
ried her when he fled Ireland, Maria, after '98. He
travelled about Spain, he did, on his way to take extra
studies at the Irish College at Salamanca. That was
how he met her. So you see, Miss O'Brien, why I
have the great interest in Spain, and what I read in the
papers has me so mixed up that I can't make up my
mind about it at all/*
The very tiny Sister Portress who opened the outer
convent door to them, sped ahead down a small hallway
to open the door of a plainly furnished reception room-
She smiled shyly and bowed, her hands crossed inside
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 113
the flowing blue sleeves of her habit ; then darted away
quickly without speaking.
"She'll have gone for the Sister Superior/' Mrs.
Crowley, as one to whom convent ways were famil-
iar, reassured her companions. "We're expected, no
doubt/' She seated herself comfortably on a stiff old-
fashioned dining-room chair under an olio of Our Lady
of Perpetual Help and looked interestedly about her.
"I don't know this order/' she told Miss O'Brien,
who smiled lightly. She did not realize that for over
fifty years Mrs. Crowley, in a sense, had been "collect-
ing" nuns as other people devote their energies and
their time to becoming connoisseurs of Waterford or
Sandwich glass, Toby jugs or profile pictures. Mrs.
Killoran, who understood the great significance of the
remark, raised her eyebrows, across the room. It
hardly seemed possible.
"No, I never saw that habit before. It's very dif-
ferent, I must say, Maria, the black cross on the front
and back of it. It has a very pious look. I'll be anx-
ious to see Reverend Mother and tell her about it when
we get home."
The tiny portress appeared again in the doorway.
She nodded and bobbed and smiled, then moved
quickly to one side to let another nun pass into the
room. Sister Superior was a large-framed ample
woman. The soft wrappings of her coif framed cheeks
that were plump and rosy red ; her eyes behind steel-
bowed spectacles were as blue as her habit.
She smiled to preface her welcome ; but Mrs. Crow-
ley was too quick for her. Mrs. Crowley rushed to
begin the conversation. From long experience, she
flattered herself that she knew just how to talk to "for-
ii4 HERSELF :
eigners" to bring understanding. The usual custom of
tourists and trippers in alien lands is to yell English
words and phrases. It is also one of the methods used
with the very deaf. Mrs. Crowley, however, both for
the deaf and the alien, used a system of slow and pain-
fully exact articulation that ground and hissed each
consonant and stretched each vowel into a prolonged
moan.
"I-I-I a-a-a-m M-m-i-i-s-s-e-s-s P-a-at-t-r-r-i-i-ckk C-r-r-
ow~w-l-ey-ee," she leaned over to Sister Superior, as if
the nun were a small and not particularly intelligent
child. She threw her arm backward, thrusting out her
cape, and pointed to Maria with the dramatic intensity
of Charlotte Cushman playing Lady Macbeth : "A-a-nd
th-i-z-ss," she declaimed, mouthing each word with an
expression that could only be read by the uninitiate
as either intense gloating or loathing, "th-i-i-ss i-s
Mm-i-i-ss-ess Ki-i-11-O-O-r-r-a-nn/'
Sister Superior's good-natured face clouded as she
listened. She turned worried eyes to the others in the
room, and found puzzlement in Miss O'Brien's eyes,
too. Mrs. Killoran's gentle face was beaming placidly,
but with a certain amused expression in her eyes that
reassured the nun. The quick alertness that had made
her superior of the convent stood her in good stead.
Her eyes twinkled as she felt she realized what lay
behind her visitor's extraordinarily queer method of
speech.
Mrs. Patrick Crowley brought her last prolonged
vowel to an end and hummed out her final consonant.
She stood waiting.
Sister Superior could not resist a sudden mischie-
vous impulse. With like dramatic fervor she placed
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 115
her open left hand upon her chest and pointed toward
the ceiling with her right hand.
"A-a~nn-dd I-I-I," she pronounced with a rich and
hearty County Kerry brogue, "a-a-mm S44-sst-er-r,"
her voice broke, "Saint Brigid of Ireland/' she ended
quickly, quivering with laughter.
Mrs. Crowley gave her a quick shocked look of sus-
picion, then emitted a sudden squeal of mirth. Mrs.
Killoran shook silently, dabbing her eyes with her
handkerchief ; Bernadette O'Brien giggled, trying hard
not to laugh, lest Mrs. Crowley be offended. In a mo-
ment, the whole company burst forth into open merri-
ment. Mrs. Crowley's high-pitched, metallic laughter
led all the rest.
"Oh, dear, that's one on me/' she said at last in
a weak voice, "that's one for the book ! Reverend
Mother at home will never let me hear the last of it.
But, don't worry, I'll tell her. It's too good to keep.
Oh, Sister Superior, I do hope you'll forgive me. The
little Sister that opened the door didn't have a word
to say, so I got it into my head none of you spoke the
English."
Little gurgles of amusement still punctuated Sister
Saint Brigid of Ireland's speech. "It is a Spanish com-
munity/' she said, "and Sister San Diego of Alcala does
not speak English very well as yet But three of the
nuns beside myself are Irish. You know, it is the Irish
tradition to travel far afield in the service of God."
"The Holy Thursday Mass for the community is to
begin in a half hour so I haven't time to sit down and
talk with you now as I should like. Unfortunately,
during Holy Week, by our rule we are not allowed to
open the chapel for Mass to our guests and the people
n6 HERSELF:
of the neighborhood who wish to worship with us.
However, I should like you to see it. I think there will
be just enough time after I have showed you your
rooms. Later in the day when the Sacrament is re-
served, you may like to make a visit to it ; and that's
permissible, of course. Here, Fll take your bags . . .
surely, surely, one of them at least. Frn used to hard
work/'
The small, oblong rooms were spotlessly neat and
clean. The painted floors had been scrubbed until
the bare boards shone through. Each room had a
simple white iron bed, a severely plain dresser with a
hanging mirror, and a wicker chair ; but gay cretonne
curtains framed the windows, the chair had a cretonne
cushion, and the framed prints of the Madonna and
the Child upon the whitewashed walls were copies
of justly famous paintings. Mrs. Crowley, with her
back to the bed, surreptitiously tested the 'give 7 of the
mattress with a practised, housewifely hand, and an-
nounced that the rooms were very satisfactory, very
nice, indeed.
But when Sister Brigid had left them alone and had
whisked down the hall, her beads rattling and her veil
flying, to lead the nuns into choir, Mrs. Crowley an-
nounced to Mrs. Killoran and Miss O'Brien, who had
offered to give up her day to guiding them about the
city, that something had to be done about the chapel.
"I took one look at the Altar of Repose/ 7 she said,
"and I could have cried. The poor, poor things . . .
paper flowers, scrawny battered little bunches of paper
flowers ; and Sister trying to make out they looked so
lovely. 'We couldn't afford very much this year, 7 she
said, 'we are trying to save every penny to bring as
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 117
many of the Sisters to this country as we can, but it
does look nice, doesn't it ?' What could you say ? I
had to say it looked beautiful, although the lie nearly
choked me. The first place we go, Miss O'Brien, is to
the florists. Never mind lunch until after. That's
our first stop, and there's no time to waste." "
With ample money in her purse and a worthy cause
upon which to lavish it, Mrs. Crowley descended upon
the little neighborhood florist like a bolt from the blue
and a gift from God. Cut-throat competition on the
part of a flower syndicate that had rented all the empty
shops roundabout for Holy Week had ruined the
Easter trade upon which the florist had counted. But
never, in his most hopeful days, had he ever expected
to be in a position to call up the wholesale house with
which he dealt, and issue peremptory orders for so
many palms and Easter lilies and dozens of white roses
to be sent to him within the hour.
"Lady," he said over and over again, "lady, you win
my heart. You go eat with a easy mind. When you
come back here I'll have everything loaded on the
truck from the man next door, and go right over with
you. And if you want, I'll work right by you . . .
never mind the shop. It can stay locked until you and
me, we're finished. You and me, we can do a beauti-
ful job. I can see you got ideas . . . you know fixing
flowers/'
"President of the Altar and Rosary for over forty
years/' Mrs. Crowley affirmed to him, so proudly and
as significantly, that it is not remarkable that he called
the wholesalers again when she had left the shop to
impress upon them that the order was "for a big society
woman, over forty years a leader/'
ia8 HERSELF :
The little florist, Sam Klotz "Call me Sam, lady"
was ready and waiting, with the truck from next
door filled with flowers, when the three women re-
turned. They were sure that the nuns' Mass must be
over ; but Mrs, Crowley sent Maria ahead to make cer-
tain, and if Sister Superior were free, to talk with
her, and prepare her for their arrival with the flowers.
The steps and door of the convent were in view
from the florist's window. In a few minutes, as they
watched, Mrs. Killoran reappeared at the door waving
her hand happily. Sister Saint Brigid of Ireland was
behind her in the doorway as Mrs. Crowley, Berna-
dette and Sam marched up the steps, Mrs. Crowley's
arms filled with sheaves of long-stemmed white roses,
and her companions' with great pots of lilies.
Sister St. Brigid was weeping although she tried to
smile ; and little Sister St. Diego of Alcala, hovering in
the background, kept flopping her hands at the wrists
in unbearable ecstasy. Mrs. Crowley, placidly ignor-
ing their emotion, merely shifted her burden to one
arm and waved the nuns ahead of her with the other,
down the hall to the double doors of the chapel.
Bernadette had carefully chosen a group of churches
for the pilgrimage that were close enough together that
her elderly companions might not be overtired. She
found, however, as all those who have lived for a time
in New York discover, that the reserves of energy
brought by visitors to the city is boundless. When
Mrs. Crowley learned that St. Agnes', the seventh and
last church selected by Bernadette, was on Forty-third
Street but eleven city blocks away from the Church
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 119
of St. John the Evangelist she would hear of no taxis
nor buses. "Just a n ^ ce walk, with a chance to look in
the windows" ; and Maria Killoran said, as quickly,
that she, herself, did not feel the least bit tired ; oh, it
would be much pleasanter to walk.
"A very nice, a very pleasant church/' Mrs. Crowley
characterized St. Agnes. She seemed to know it well,
to Bernadette's surprise. It was not the church that
she knew, however. She had never before entered the
building. Her acquaintance with St. Agnes' was with
its former pastor, the late Monsignor Chidwick, chap-
lain of the Maine. She had met him several times, she
told her companions, once in Millington years ago
when he came to dedicate the city's memorial to the
heroes of the War with Spain.
"He was lovely to me, and talked to me a long while,
giving me great comfort/' she said briefly. Mrs. Killo-
ran shook her head warningly at Bernadette. Mrs.
Crowley was mentioning a subject of which no one
but herself was allowed to speak. "He was a great and
good man, Monsignor Chidwick, and a great patriot
priest. It was he told me, "no man can die nobler than
as a soldier of God and a soldier of the flag/ Indeed,
he himself was both, Lord have mercy on him. IT1
stay here a bit, if you don't mind, girls ; I have a few
extra prayers to say."
Bernadette devoted her weekend to the two women.
On Good Friday morning, they assisted at the Mass of
the Pre-Sanctified at the Church of St. Francis of Assisi,
and, after an hour's strolling through the nearby shops
and a light luncheon, returned to the church for the
Tre Ore service in the afternoon. In the evening, they
120 HERSELF :
journeyed uptown to the Church of St. Paul the Apos-
tle, the famous Paulist church, on West Fifty-ninth
Street, for the chanting of the Tenebrae.
No Catholic service, save those that could be seen
only in Rome or that were local to a particular country
or diocese, was at all new to such an indefatigable
churchgoer as Mrs. Crowley. She had never been
bound to the limits of the Old Parish, devoted as she
was to it. For many years her idea of a perfect outing
had been a trip to Boston, not for the opera nor the
play nor for the spring or fall fashions, but for Catholic
ceremonies which she might not have the chance to
witness at home. Mrs. Killoran had been her pleased
companion on many of these extra-canonical jaunts.
So, to women who had been present at the consecra-
tions of bishops, the ordinations of priests, the profes-
sions of countless nuns, the Tenebrae, although rarely
a parish service, was very familiar. But never, they
agreed, could they hope again to hear its nocturnes
chanted with such ineffable power and beauty as at the
Paulist Church.
"I've always said, Maria/' Mrs. Crowley began medi-
tatively, "that I wanted no one but Aggie Kelly to sing
my Requiem. I used to get cold chills thinking of
myself lying there, listening to a men's choir. ^Motu
Proprio or no Motu Proprio, I always thought I'd like
to go while there was still the chance of a woman sing-
ing the Dies Irae over me. I felt the same way when
hacks went out, at funerals ; I never wanted to be
rushed away in a fast automobile. But sure, every-
thing is automobiles nowadays, and I don't suppose
Fd mind. And it's the same way with my Requiem,
after tonight. If you could have those boys singing
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 121'
over you I think you'd have an easy chance of Heaven.
St. Peter, himself, would be holding open the gates the
better to hear music like that ; and I think it would
soften him even if you were a great sinner entirely."
Holy Saturday sped away quickly. The three good
companions went to Mass again at Mrs. Crowley's
chosen substitute for her own parish church, the
friendly Church of St. Francis of Assisi. They brought
back to the convent little vials of Easter water and
sprinkled it about their rooms.
Mrs. Crowley had warned and cautioned Aggie
Kelly to be sure to visit her little white cottage and
there perform the same pious act. It worried her all
afternoon lest Aggie might forget; but Bernadette
cheerfully suggested a telegram and that dispelled Mrs.
Crowley's concern.
Mrs. Patrick Crowley was surprisingly gay Saturday
afternoon. Lent was over ; she had observed it faith-
fully and well ; she was "out now/' she beamed, "for a
bit of a fling" ; she was "going to do the stores up
brown" ; let no one say her nay.
Bernadette had not looked forward to the after-
noon's shopping with half the eagerness she had felt in
taking the two women to the Holy Week services.
Their active and ardent and happy piety had impressed
her more and more each day. It had brought back
vividly to her the excitement of Holy Week at the con-
vent academy she had attended ; the rivalry among the
girls to offer the choicest flowers to Madame Adrian,
who had charge of the altar on Holy Thursday and
Easter Sunday ; the rehearsals with Madame Lawrence
for the Easter cantata and for the Mass on Easter Sun-
day ; the three hours on Good Friday when every girl
122 HERSELF :
kept silence ; the freshening of veils and the weaving of
wreaths of smilax for the Holy Thursday procession.
Shopping with the two elderly women, she thought,
would undoubtedly be tiresome, even with Mrs. Crow-
ley's lively comments to lighten the afternoon, and
Mrs. Killoran's serenity that carried its own feeling of
rest and comfort everywhere with her. On the con-
trary, however, the afternoon was most exciting. Mrs.
Crowley, with an amused expression of disdain, had
waved away Bernadette's dutiful suggestion of bar-
gains and bargain counters of which she knew.
"Tut, tut, child/' she said, "one day Maria and I
are going off by ourselves. We're going early in the
morning and we're going to stay all day. That's the
day we're going to do the five-and-tens. We both love
them. But we certainly are not going to drag you
around with us on a day like that. No, today the sky's
the limit. I'm on a spree. It's Fifth Avenue or noth-
ing ... or some of those smart little shoppees we saw
when we were going the rounds on Holy Thursday, the
kind that has one hat and one blouse in an acre of
window. I'm going to be in the Easter parade, and
I'm going to look the part."
To the alarm of little Sister San Diego of Alcala,
smartly costumed delivery men and special messengers
kept arriving at St. Eulalia's convent all Saturday after-
noon, with hat boxes and dress boxes, square and ob-
long and round, of every type and description. After
she had signed uncertainly for the eleventh richly
wrapped package she fled in alarm to Mother St. Brigid
of Ireland. The convent of the Cross of Calvary in
Madrid had been close to those gates of the Palacio
Real at which similar deliveries had been made for
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 123
members of the royal household. Twice Sor Diego on
an errand to the markets had seen the Queen and her
daughters ride by ; and once, as sister portress, she had
opened the convent door to the stout cheery form of
the Infanta, patroness of the order.
She repeated all this to Mother Brigid, whom she
revered as the fount of all wisdom in this strange but
blessed American land. "Would it be, Reverendisime
Madre, that these so noble ladies are of this United
States the Infantas ? But should we not warn them
then of the so great a danger for who knows who
of the evil ones, of whom we know too well, you and
I, Madre, should be watching them to do them harm
because they have money to buy ? So with them as
with the good Marquesa del Saltilla and the Condesa
de Bari y Altroso. Perhaps we should warn them to
go away. It might bring harm to them to be known
as friends of the convent of Santa Eulalia. Our trou-
bles should not be their troubles, no ? It is too sad
that we should do that to the Infantas of America."
"Oh, dear ! Sor Diego, it has been on my mind con-
stantly to tell Mrs. Crowley about the trouble we have
been having. I can't and I won't appeal to the au-
thorities. I wouldn't even say anything about it to
Father Anthony, as you know. I have been so hopeful
that it would pass over. But I did intend to tell Mrs.
Crowley. No harm and no insults must come to those
two dear ladies because of us. We just must offer ex-
tra prayers that our dear Lord will let this cross rest
on our own shoulders/'
"I pray each hour as I work," said Sor Diego ea-
gerly, "for Dona Patricio Crow-lee and Dona Maria.
To Santa Theresa I pray . . . not our own Teresa of
124 HERSELF :
Avila who is not to be bothered with my foolish little
prayers . . . but to St. Theresa, the Little Flower,
for this little wish I have. It is because she was so
good, Dona Patricio, to make lovely our altar for our
Lord with true flowers that I ask Saint Little Flower
to make her a happy surprise very soon. I think, too,
she will do it ... that Little Theresa."
"I shall join my prayers to yours . . " began
Mother Brigid, but Sor Diego shook her head quickly.
Her face held the hurt of a child.
"No, no," she cried. 'Tor us all will you pray, yes ?
But my silly little prayer is a secret for me and for the
Little Flower. To me alone I think she will give the
surprise."
Mrs. Crowley and Mrs. Killoran returned to St. Eu-
lalia's just as the gong in the main hallway was sound-
ing for Recreation. A light soft rain had begun to
fall. The nuns dared not venture into their tiny walled
garden. The convent was so small and so crowded
for available space, that the only possible room for
them to walk and talk at Recreation was a section of
the upper hall on which the visitors' rooms opened.
Forthwith, as she saw the nuns pacing sedately back
and forth but a few yards from her door, Mrs. Crowley
trotted down the hall to Mother Brigid and confidently
asked if she might not stage a fashion show for the
Sisters.
Mother Brigid was greatly amused at the request
But what harm, she thought. It is a long time since
the Sisters have seen loveliness of any kind. She re-
called with a shudder the dirty, stained garments in
which they had been forced to flee, when word came
that the historic old cloisters near the Palacio were to
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY , 125
be despoiled and burned. They had been so proud
of the richness and beauty of their altar linens., and of
the exquisitely embroidered vestments in the convent
sacristy for their chaplain to use on great feast days.
Sor San Juan de Toledo had painted so exquisitely on
silk ; Sor San Maria de Campo had been such an artist
with her lace bobbins. Now even the coarsest linens
were a burden upon the empty purse of Sister Treas-
urer. The order was not even well enough established
in New York for the nuns to know of those who might
desire their handiwork ; and paints and silks and
threads and bobbins they could not afford to buy, on
mere speculation.
She nodded smilingly to Mrs. Crowley, and called
the nuns about her to prepare them for the odd treat.
She knew in a moment that she was altogether right in
her decision. The gentle cries of pleasure that went
up all about her, and the shining eager faces of the
nuns told her that. Sor Diego de Alcala patted her
little hands together and talked volubly to the others
of the many, many boxes so, her arms stretched side-
wise, and so ... her arms reached as far ceilingward
as they could go ; and shaking her head in whimsical
mockery of her own difficulties with them, she made a
few mimicking steps, her arms still held out as though
she were burdened down.
"Figaro, Figaro, Figaro/' Sor San Cecilia murmured
beside Mother Brigid, and Mother turning saw a faint
smile waver on Cecilia's sad, white face. Sor Cecilia
had come from Toledo ; two of her brothers had been
killed defending the Alcazar, and her mother had died
of starvation in the underground dungeons during the
siege. It was long since Cecilia had smiled. God
126 HERSELF :
bless Mrs, Crowley, Mother Brigid said to herself at
once . . . but I must warn her away from us tonight.
Mrs. Patrick had enjoyed herself tremendously all
afternoon, but that enjoyment was but a preface to
the pleasure she had that evening. No model nor
mannequin had ever a more appreciative audience than
she and Maria ; no fashion show was ever given with
such merry cries of admiration and astonishment of-
fered so freely., admiration at everything that came
from the boxes, astonishment that the show seemed
to keep going on and on.
Sor Diego was almost breathless with awe as she
patted a black velvet evening cape that Mrs, Crowley
out of a clear sky had decided she simply must
buy. Sor San Maria let the soft film of a blue chiffon
dinner dress that Mrs. Crowley had urbanely pressed
upon Mrs. Killoran trickle through her fingers, and
said a little prayer that once again she might create
loveliness for the service of God. When Mrs. Crow-
ley appeared sweeping down the hall, in a black silk
robe de style, with a modest decolletage, long white
gloves, and a bandeau of pearls in her white hair, Sor
San Diego knew truly then that she was indeed an
Infanta. And each nun exclaimed, and shook her
head wonderingly, as cobwebby stockings and silk and
satin undergarments were passed from hand to hand,
They had almost forgotten that in the world such
things still existed. Few of them had ventured far
from the convent since they had arrived in New York ;
many of them were half afraid that the chaos and de-
struction that they had known for several years might
still be about them in this new America. Mrs. Crow-
ley's finery reassured them, as no words of Mother
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 127
Brigid had been able to do. Such things they had
seen in the windows of the shops along the Carrera de
Jeronimo or on fine ladies in the Paseo Castellana ; but
that had been so long ago. Now they knew that such
loveliness was still existent. Perhaps some day it might
return to Madrid . . . perhaps some day they, them-
selves, might return.
Mother Brigid, watching the shy faces light with
pleasure, decided that tonight was not the time to
speak of grave, hidden things to Mrs. Crowley. Her
own face was too radiant with the pleasure she was
giving.
"No/' said Mother Brigid to herself, "Irish as I
am, the ways of Spain have grown on me. Mariana.
That's time enough."
Mrs. Patrick Crowley was ever an early riser, nor did
she consider lying late abed an integral part of a vaca-
tion. Moreover, it had been her custom for many
years to arise earlier on Easter day than on any other
day in the year. She had clung affectionately to the
old pious Irish belief of her childhood that on Easter
Sunday morning the sun, as it appears above the east-
ern horizon, dances in joy of the Resurrection. For
over sixty years she had risen at dawn to see the sun
dance. She still preserved that childlike inviolability
of heart that made the sun, as her eyes blinked at its
rays, truly seem to move joyously in the sky.
So, bright and early, long before even the nuns were
awake, Mrs. Patrick was up and dressed, and out stroll-
ing in the loveliness of the Easter dawn. She walked
over to Stuyvesant Park to watch the red-gold rim of
light mount steadily higher on the horizon ; and once
128 HERSELF :
again, in New York as in Millington,the sun seemed
to move in the heavens with the stately dignity with
which the boy dancers in the cathedral at Toledo pace
about in honor of the Immaculate Conception. It
was a most agreeable experience, she felt as she walked
slowly back to the convent.
She had ordered fresh flowers from her friend Sam
for the decorating of the convent altar for the solemn
Easter Mass. The night before, after the fashion
show, she and Mother Brigid had spent the hour be-
fore bedtime arranging them. Sam was in his door-
way as she passed on her walk, and she stopped and
chatted with him for a few moments. He stared after
her in admiration as she moved with dignity across the
street ; to him as to Sor San Diego she appeared as the
greatest of great ladies.
Mrs, Crowley's step was slow and measured. She
was in no hurry. She felt that Maria needed extra
sleep, and that it would be wrong to waken her by
moving about in the next room. Her morning walk
and the friendly chat with the florist made her feel very
benign. She was at peace with the world and ready
to call every man blessed.
She decided to walk past the convent and continue
her stroll of exploration into some of the other neigh-
boring streets. She wandered very pleasurably about
for another half hour, making mental notes to tell
Maria that prices for canned goods were the same in
New York as in Millington, but that vegetables were
higher ; and that in New York you could buy potato
salad 'made up" at grocery shops called delicatessens.
That last amused her, although she thought it showed
a certain shiftlessness among New York housewives ;
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 129
for if there was anything even the worst cook should
be able to prepare easily it should be potato salad.
How many thousand plates of it I have prepared in my
day for the church coffee suppers, she reflected ; ev-
erybody always liked my potato salad.
She was happily musing about compliments paid her
cooking as she turned a corner and re-entered the short
street on which the convent stood. She had just
reached the convent when she was startled by a yelling
voice at the other end of the street. She looked ahead
quickly. Her friend Sam was racing toward her. Just
then, in front of her, a sheaf of white roses hurtled to
the sidewalk through the door of the convent chapel
opening on the street. She stepped back in consterna-
tion. What was happening was unbelievable. The
flowers from the altar her flowers that she had ar-
ranged with such care being thrown out like that !
What on earth was going on ?
She stared transfixedly at the open chapel door and
the darkness within. In the quiet of the street she
could hear Sam's heavy steps pounding toward her ;
but the beating of her heart was even louder when she
realized that the chapel was being profaned. In an
instant she was galvanized into action.
She was up the steps and into the chapel at once ;
but again stepped back horror-stricken at the de-
struction in the aisle before her. The dim dawn light
from the high pointed windows showed it all too
clearly. The floor was strewn with broken bouquets
of roses, and in the chancel the great tubs of palms had
been overturned and the Easter lilies wrested from
their pots and thrown about in mad demoniac frenzy.
Midway down the nave of the chapel she saw a wild-
130 HERSELF:
eyed woman standing in the debris, her upheld hand
defiantly holding more roses. The sight of the fright-
ened old woman standing at the door, her hand pressed
against her heart, brought forth a loud burst of jeering,
raucous laughter. In an instant she had hurled her
flowers at Mrs. Crowley, and had dashed back to the
sanctuary to continue her work of destruction.
Mrs. Crowley in her daze heard Sam panting beside
her. His presence steadied her. "Close the door/'
she said to him shortly, herself again, "and take off
your hat" More troubled and excited and disturbed
than she had ever been in her life, she still recalled that
in the synagogue St. Paul's admonition to the Corin-
thians about uncovered heads was not obeyed.
The vixenish marauder turned at the open gates of
the chancel rail and screamed a string of epithets at
them in an alien tongue. With relief so great that it
was a sharp pain, Mrs. Crowley saw that the sanctuary
lamp swinging high in the apse was unlighted. The
Blessed Sacrament then was not in the tabernacle !
If the Sacred Host were present she knew she must
have fainted at the sight of the demoniacal clawing,
black-nailed hands tearing at the tabernacle's silken
curtain.
Now, as the curtain ripped away from the golden
door with a tearing shriek of protest, her sick horror
left her. Clean, righteous anger took its place and ran
furiously through her veins. Her long veil flying, her
cape outstretched behind her like the wings of an
avenging archangel, she sped down the aisle to the
chancel. And as she started, to Sam beside her,
"Charge I" cried the daughter and the wife and the
mother of American Catholic soldiers.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 131
She reached the sanctuary as the woman turned the
key of the tabernacle's gilded door. She was beside
her in an instant, dragging the profaner backward
down the altar steps. The woman fought her vi-
ciously, but Mrs. Crowley's old arms turned to steel
for the time it took the slower Sam to reach them.
Together they subdued the woman and dragged her
at Mrs. Crowley's insistence out of the chancel and up
the aisle. Mrs. Crowley wanted her far away from the
sacredness of the sanctuary at once. The woman
twisted and kicked and struggled, writhing from side
to side to break their grasp ; but Sam's hold was firm,
and Mrs. Crowley felt that no less than the power of
God was in her wrinkled old hands.
In the corridor outside the woman subsided at last,
and glared at them malevolently with warlock eyes.
Her black oily Medusa locks hung in strings over her
forehead.
Mrs. Crowley could hardly trust herself to speak.
Sam looked toward her inquiringly for further orders.
Then the woman snarled at them.
"You hurt me, I kill you dead, old woman/' she spat
at Mrs. Crowley venomously. "I got plenty people
hurt you bad, you do anything to me. You lemme
go!"
Mrs. Crowley regained her voice then, and it was
firm and clear and decided. "Let you go ? Indeed,
Fll let you go ! The farther away you are from me the
better 111 like it ! Don't think I want you ! I don't
want any more of you than I have to have. Your own
mother wouldn't want the likes of you I You'll go,
all right! But before you go, I'll do what I'd do
to you if I were your mother God help the poor
i 3 2 HERSELF :
woman. I won't call a policeman. Jail is too soft for
the likes of you. Ill take the law into my own hands.
Turn her over there, Sam, and I'll give her the spanking
might have made a woman out of her if she had it
earlier. The least it will do now is to make her think
twice before she tries to profane God's house again/'
Irmengarde Hickey, champion all-around woman
athlete, certain choice for every female team in the
1940 Olympics, decided that morning at the end of her
second circling of the Central Park reservoir, to forgo
her usual canter and instead hike down to Stuyvesant
Square to inspect the two elderly women Bernadette
O'Brien had so happily taken off her hands. That
shortly after dawn on Sunday morning was hardly the
hour for friendly visiting did not bother Irmengarde at
all. She had no patience with slug-a-beds. It was
time the old women were up ; too much sleep was
devitalizing ; they should be up on such a glorious
morning. If they were not, she would waken them.
So it was that the doughty Miss Hickey in tweed
skirt and turtle-neck sweater came swinging breezily
down the convent street just as a rather battered look-
ing Mrs. Patrick Crowley and a puffing, perspiring Sain
came through the chapel door, their captive twisting
and squirming between them, more furious now than
before because of the indignity of the punishment that
had been given her.
"Say/' said Irmengarde at once, "what's going on
here ? Two against one. Do you call that cricket ?"
It was not a happy remark to make. Mrs. Crowley
glared at her at once. So did Sam whose loyalty to his
patron was absolute. And to further aggrieve the
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 133
Hickey sense of sportsmanship, the captive termagant
not only added her own glare but spat, and spat
unmistakably in Irmengarde's direction. The aghast
champion of "Fair play, lads" at once became partisan.
"Here/' she said abruptly to Mrs. Crowley, "111 hold
on to this foul ball until you can collect yourself and
tell me what it's all about. Straighten your bonnet,
and pull yourself together and let's have the story."
This new arrival had a commanding air that Mrs.
Crowley envied. She was glad to be able to loosen her
hold on the woman, for now the excitement died
down she felt very old, very weak, and very tired.
As briefly as she could she told the newcomer the story.
"The little louse!" said Irmengarde. "The rat!
Boy, what wouldn't I give to put the gloves on with
you/' she turned a measuring eye on the woman that
was more baleful in its coldness than the marauder's
own fieriness. The woman shrank back, frightenedly.
"Pardon the strong language," she turned to Mrs.
Crowley cheerfully, "but strong language is indicated.
Shall I trot her over to the station house ?"
"I'd be willing to let her go, if I thought she would
be afraid to come back," said Mrs. Crowley concern-
edly. "I don't know if my hand was hard enough for
that," she said apologetically, "and I'd rather keep it
all from the Sisters if I could. They'd be frightened
and worried about the scandal."
"Hmnh," grunted Irmengarde. "I'll tell you what
I'll do. I'll move down here tomorrow. I'm a Cath-
olic, of course, but I suppose you've guessed that. She
won't dare show up if she knows I'm here. She had
better not."
She twisted the captive about and spoke to her with
134 HERSELF:
gritted teeth and a face that she made as fierce as pos-
sible. "From now on/' she said, "Fll be staying here.
You keep away, do you understand ? For if I catch
you anywhere near this place, whether you're up to
your tricks or not, Fll put the fear of God into you in
a way that will make this morning's lesson seem a joy
and a delight." She released her hold, and nodded to
Sam to release his. The panic-stricken marauder, now
thoroughly quelled, dashed madly away down the
street.
Irmengarde shook hands then vigorously with Sam,
and gave Mrs. Crowley a reassuring pat upon the back.
"You certainly are in nice shape for an old-timer,"
she told her. "Do you live here ? Fm calling on an
old lady that does. Fve been ducking the job though.
She's one of these old-fashioned lavender-and-old-lace
jobs from the country. Not at all your style. You still
have what it takes," she said admiringly.
Mrs. Crowley had been not quite at ease with the
stranger, yet something about the girl seemed to strike
a familiar chord. "I don't recall Reverend Mother
speaking of any other older guests," she said dubiously.
"Oh, yes," said Irmengarde breezily, "an old woman
from the country. My roommate has been showing
her the sights. But I wouldn't bother looking her up
if I were you. You two wouldn't have anything in
common. She spends all her time in churches and
buying scads of foolish clothes. Bernadette did the
shops with her Saturday. You wouldn't like her.
Lavender-and-old4ace. Soppy. By the way," she put
out her hand cheerfully, "my name is Hickey. What's
yours 1"
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 135
Mrs. Crowley's old mouth twisted in amusement.
"Why/* she said with sparkling eyes, "I'm Mrs. Pat-
rick Crowley of Millington a friend of Bernadette
O'Brien/'
CHAPTER VI
LVEREND MOTHER BRIGID of Ire-
land entered the chapel from the sacristy
as Mrs. Crowley and Irmengarde were
clearing up the last of the debris of flow-
ers and plants strewn about the sanctu-
ary and in the aisles.
"It has come then/' she said with quiet resignation,
as Mrs. Crowley turned to her from replacing one of
the tall brass altar candlesticks that had been knocked
to the floor. Then, with fuller realization of what
must have happened, she exclaimed quickly, "But you
were not hurt, Mrs. Crowley ? You came when it was
over ? They did not molest you ? Oh, I shall never
forgive myself. . ." She hurried onto the altar for
reassurance.
"Tush, tush, Sister/' Mrs. Crowley answered her
soothingly. "Don't bother your head about it. There's
no harm done. I got here in time, thanks be to God.
And we settled her, myself and my my pal, my
buddy here," she gave a quick humorous twinkle
toward Irmengarde who was laboriously collecting
pieces of broken glass in the aisle. "You'll never be
bothered again, Sister. Me . . . hurt ?" as she under-
stood Sister Brigid's greatest concern. "Not a bit of
it Just r'aring to go and get this place fixed up again."
"I should have told you last night, I know. Oh, for-
give me/' said Mother Brigid tearfully, "but after the
fun of the fashion show I hated so to disturb you.
This has been happening for the past month . . .
136
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 137
that's really the reason we closed the chapel to out-
siders for Holy Week ; and that, I thought, made us
safe. It's a group of Spanish Communists more vi-
cious even than most of them. A woman is their
leader. . . Sor San Diego saw her one day and recog-
nized her as one of the most rabid of the mob that first
attacked the churches and the nuns in Madrid. . . La;
Malquerida, they call her. Oh, she's a horrible person.
I have been so afraid of causing scandal that I haven't
gone to the police. . . I haven't even told our chaplain
... we long so not to be a cause of trouble . . . and
in New York people might misunderstand . . . and
think that we had done something to ... to invite
this shame. I have had the Sacrament taken away
each evening. As long as That was inviolate I thought
we could bear with the rest. Nothing has disturbed
us for a week . . . and I put off telling you. Having
you here encouraged the nuns . . . they were feeling
more themselves ... we have been so frightened.
And now, I suppose, you will feel you have to go. I
understand. I hoped that we might pay our way with
a few boarders ; but I was wrong. I see that now."
"Stay ?" said Mrs. Crowley, shocked. "Stay, is it ?
Well, indeed, I'm staying. Wild horses couldn't drag
me away, let alone one crazy woman, who got her
comeuppance this fair day."
"Me, too, Sister," Irmengarde's close-cut blonde
crop bobbed up suddenly from behind a pew, mo-
mentarily startling Sister Brigid anew. "Moving in
tomorrow. Bag and baggage. Nothing will happen
while I'm here. Good bodyguard. Escort you any-
where."
Mrs. Crowley smiled at Sister Brigid, tilting her head
138 HERSELF:
toward Irmengarde. " There'll be no Orangemen
march on the Monaghan road/ " she quoted.
"I don't know how she could have gotten in, unless
she had a key," continued Mother Brigid worriedly,
"unless she took an impression of the lock and had a
key made. . ."
"She had one but she hasn't got it now. I have.
She dropped it/' asserted Irmengarde cheerfully.
"We'll change the locks tomorrow and put bolts on
the inside. But that's not even necessary. I'm here
from now on and she knows it. She'll keep away."
As the three women worked together, Mother Saint
Brigid revealed, in little spurts and darts of speech, the
humiliation to which the nuns had been subjected once
the more rabid Communists in and about Union
Square had learned of the establishment of the con-
vent. Sam, in the meanwhile, had been busily trotting
back and forth from his shop to the chapel, bring-
ing fresh flowers for the altar, and a strangely miscel-
laneous collection of vases and flower holders sent over
by "the wife Becky" from their flat above the shop.
Mrs. Crowley looked at Mother Brigid whimsically
askance, as Sam handed her a particularly odd shaped
vessel decorated by violently flamboyant roses and in-
scribed, very plainly, "Remembrance of Far Rocka-
way" ; but the nun merely nodded her head gently.
Not until Sam had trotted off happily down the aisle
did Mother Brigid hold up the little silver loving cup
in which she had been arranging a nosegay of white
violets. "Samuel Aaron Klotz. Bar Mitzvah. 1931"
read the enscrolled tracery. Of her dearest treasures,
Becky Klotz had given generously. It was the con-
firmation cup of her little dead Sammy.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 139
"The blessed good creatures/' said Mother Brigid
tenderly. "What can I say, but 'Leave there thy gift
upon the altar' ?"
Bernadette arrived at the convent as Mrs. Crowley
was recounting to Maria Killoran the tale of the morn-
ing's adventures. She had hoped, Bernadette told
them, that, late as it was, she might still be able to ob-
tain tickets for the solemn pontifical Easter Mass at
St. Patrick's ; but she had been unsuccessful. Her
suggestion was that they ride uptown to Mass at St.
Agnes' church, and after Mass there walk over to Fifth
Avenue to view the paraders at the conclusion of the
services at the Cathedral, and at St. Thomas' Church
and St. Bartholomew's.
Irmengarde announced matter-of-factly that she was
staying on at the convent. Mother St. Brigid had in-
vited her to attend the Sisters' Mass. After Mass, she
said, she was going to take the nuns, one by one, out
for a walk. They needed the air and the exercise, and
reassuring proof that the United States was, indeed, a
free country.
As little Sor San Diego met the Easter churchgoers
in the lower hall as they were leaving the convent, she
bobbed up and down in front of Mrs. Crowley more
joyously than ever. Her wimpled face shone with
radiant delight. "Secreto, Dona Patricio . . . Santa
Theresa ... si, si ... secreto. Ho-kay," she said
suddenly in a mighty burst into the strange English
language.
"You know, girls," said Mrs. Crowley wonderingly,
"I got that. Would you think you could pick up
Spanish in such a short time ? It must be the Basque
140 HERSELF :
in me. I understood that Spanish as clear as anything.
It's some secret between her and Saint Theresa . . .
that must be one of the nuns we don't know so well,
Sister Saint Theresa. The little one and her have
some secret for me, do you see, and it's going to come
out all right. It's going to be o-kay, she said. They
give that an *h' sound in Spanish, but they evidently
have the same expression. You know Spanish is a
very intelligent language when you come right down
to it. I understood every word/' She pursed her lips
thoughtfully. "At that, you know, although no one
could ever call me curious, I'd give anything to know
what the secret is/'
"She wants you to get your Easter wish, Abbie.
Sister Superior was telling me last night. The dear
little thing thinks you ought to be rewarded for the
flowers you've been buying. And that's what she's
praying to Saint Theresa it's really Saint Theresa,
the Little Flower, she means, not one of the other
nuns that you'll get the thing you most wish for to-
day. What are you wishing for, Abbie ?" asked Mrs.
Killoran.
"I don't know as there's anything special I might be
wishing for, unless it's a real good look at Governor
Smith. I've had that wish in my mind for a good
while ; even before we started out on our trip, Maria,
as you know. I can't think of anything else I'd be
wishing."
Mrs. Crowley and Maria expressed themselves as
very well pleased with Bernadette's choice of St. Agnes'
Church as the alternative to the services at the Cathe-
dral. The altars looked beautiful ; the choir had sung
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 141
Gounod's Messe Solennelle, a favorite of Mrs. Crow-
ley's ; the congregation was very devout ; and the priest
preaching the sermon had had a clear distinct voice.
Mrs. Crowley abhorred pulpit mumblers. The two
older women commented on the singing of the Mass
in honor of Saint Cecilia as they made their way in the
crowd down the church steps. The soprano soloist^
Mrs. Crowley was saying, had much of Aggie Kelly's
quality in her voice Aggie Kelly when she was.
younger, that is. . .
She broke off horrifiedly for Maria, turning her head
back to agree with her, misjudged her step and sud-
denly lurched forward. The press of the crowd in-
front helped her to regain her balance almost at once,,
and she insisted that no attention be paid to her slight
mishap ; but as they walked up Lexington Avenue, to
cross through to Fifth, she began to limp painfully.
It was evident then that she had sprained her ankle.
Neither Mrs. Crowley nor Bernadette would listen to
her protestations that she was really quite all right, that
it was not a sprain but a twist, and that she was able
enough to go on. As the pain became more and more
unbearable, however, she consented to return by cab to-
the convent with Bernadette and have a doctor called ;
but she insisted that Mrs. Crowley stay uptown and;
watch the Easter parade as they had planned. She
was so insistent about it that Mrs. Crowley had to
agree, although she protested that it was utter nonsense
for her to wander about by herself with no one to talk
with and comment to about the styles.
"You can tell me about them when you get back,"
Maria pointed out. "If I can't see them myself, the
142 HERSELF :
next best thing will be to hear about them from you.
I don't care what you say. I won't hear of you coming
back. Besides think of your wish/'
So Mrs. Patrick Crowley, not half as cheerful as in
her early morning strolling, made her way alone over to
Fifth Avenue and uptown toward the Cathedral. It
was difficult for her to realize that she was in the fa-
mous Easter fashion parade of which she had read so
much. Indeed, she thought it rather disappointing.
The Avenue seemed more crowded with sightseers
than with members of the world of wealth and style.
She was able to recognize the sheep from the goats at a
glance ; but she thought to herself, disgustedly, there
are a hundred goats to every fine-fleeced sheep.
She would have been the more amused had she re-
alized the impression she herself was creating as she
walked dignifiedly along, her large gilt-edged missal
clasped before her in her white-gloved hands. She
was conscious that she looked her best ; but she had
no idea how superbly regal that best could be. For
all her years, her carriage was erect and stately. Not
for naught in her girlhood had she walked about with
a book perched precariously, but safely, upon her head,
and her father's walking stick held across her back in
the crook of her elbows.
She had bought a new cape, and another new bonnet,
on her shopping tour the day before. They were both
most becoming. The cape of fine broadcloth had
triple shoulder capes edged with soft moleskin, and
there was a wider band of the moleskin at the hem.
The shoulder capes had delighted her when the coutu-
rier had had the cloak modelled for her. They re-
minded her of the caped coats always worn by the Irish
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 145
rebels in the old St. Patrick's Night plays ; Sarah Cur-
ran, she told Maria, might very well have worn that
style of cape.
The brim of the bonnet of soft dull black silk was
turned back, and arched above her snow-white pompa-
dour like a Russian court headdress. Her hair gleamed
in the bonnet's framing. Nor had she forgotten her
pearls which gleamed with such luster that no one
could have imagined that they were trumpery. Upon
Mrs. Patrick Crowley's ears and about her high-held
neck they seemed surely the choicest products of Frank
Sullivan's noble oysters of Cotuit, champions among
pearl begetters.
Twice in her progress up the Avenue, Mrs. Crowley
had to draw away from cameramen bent on photo-
graphing some celebrity behind her. Each time it
seemed that she had stepped hastily into the view
rather than away from it, for the photographers
matched their own steps with hers. The first time
that she noticed the men levelling their cameras, a
passer-by cried to her companion shrilly that they were
trying to snap a picture of one of the dowager Van-
derbilts. Mrs. Crowley felt that it would be uncouth
to turn about and stare, but a single quick but reserved
glance about showed no one answering such a descrip-
tion.
All along the way she watched eagerly, however, for
sight of her idol and the idol of Millington, the great
former governor of New York. She was certain she
would recognize him readily from his pictures. She re*
alized that the prospect of her seeing Mr. and Mrs.
Smith had made Maria urge her to stay and view the
Easter parade alone; Maria knew how deeply Mrs.
144 HERSELF :
Crowley had set her heart upon seeing, at first hand,
the man whom the Old Parish considered the one truly
great man of the age.
Each time the sauntering crowds halted or moved
together, she hurried forward hopeful that the for-
mer governor and his wife were approaching. To her
disgust it invariably turned out that the focus of the
crowd's attention was the same fopperishly dressed
young man in morning clothes and top hat, carrying a
portable microphone into which he and his compan-
ion, a harried young woman jotting hasty fashion notes
on a wad of copy paper, alternately spoke. She knew
that they were describing the styles for some radio sta-
tion, but the constant massing of people about them,
and her own misinterpretation, time after time, of the
reason for the gathering crowds, nettled her. Once
the young man drew alongside her, and asked her to
speak into the travelling microphone. She dismissed
him with cold hauteur, and hurried ahead. Unfor-
tunately, his action in speaking to her seemed to attract
a large group of curious onlookers to her. She was
trailed up Fifth Avenue after that by ever-increasing
followers.
A quick glance into a mirrored shop window reas-
sured her that her clothes were not awry ; she could
think of no other reason for the crowd's attention be-
ing drawn to her. It's persistence in pursuit of her,
no matter how she quickened her pace, infuriated her.
She would have liked nothing better than to have
turned and cried "Scat" to the lot of them. She very
well understood in those moments the sentiments that
prompted the Queen in Alice to cry, "Off with his
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 145
head/* And worst of all, her entourage steadily grew.
More and more people passing stopped to turn and
stare at her. By the time she had reached the broad
plaza before the Cathedral she was beside herself with
vexation.
A pleasantly red-faced elderly patrolman stood at the
foot of the terrace steps. He reminded her of Maria's
cousin, John James Murphy, who was on the force at
home, John James who was called "The Childers*
John" because of his sympathy and kindliness toward
the boys and girls on his beat in the Old Parish.
The early morning episode in St. Eulalia's chapel
had left Mrs. Crowley with little appreciation of the
finer qualities of New York policemen. It was as true
in New York as in Millington that they were never on
hand when you wanted them. "The idea/' she scolded
Sam, as a New York taxpayer, "of mad, wild vagabonds
streeling loose through the city's streets bothering and
frightening holy women and profaning the House of
God and not a policeman in sight anywhere/ 7 She
had very firmly determined then to give the first pa-
trolman she met a sizeable piece of her mind.
But now she approached the image and likeness of
John James Murphy as a true friend in need, a second
cousin at least of her Guardian AngeL If there was
asperity in the tone with which she addressed him it
was bred of her annoyance of the trailing crowds, cer-
tainly not of his uniform. Indeed she hoped that the
people following her seeing her stop to speak to an
officer of the law might feel it the part of better judg-
ment to move on about their own business if they
had any.
146 HERSELF :
The matter she really wished to put before the po-
liceman, however, was whether or not she had missed
Governor and Mrs. Smith. She felt that only surety
of seeing her idol could make her bear the continual
curious staring with any fortitude.
But "No, ma'am, I ain't seen him. Not today, 1
haven't caught sight of him at all. Him and his lady
usually comes to this Mass of an Easter, and I usually
have a chance to say 'Hello 7 to him ; but not today.
The sexton come to the door a while back, and I asked
him if he had seen the Governor, but he said 'No/ I
guess he didn't show up today, all right. Is there any-
thing else I could do for you, ma'am ?"
Mrs. Crowley's disappointment was great. "For
two cents," she told herself, "I could sink right down
here on the pavement, I'm just that heartsick. All
that ogling and staring for nothing. It serves me right
for not going home with Maria, and taking care of
her/'
"Oh, dear !" she said aloud, as she noticed the crowd
now massed a few yards away at the curb. The police-
man noticed the quick uneasy look with which she re-
garded her unwelcome followers.
"If you want to skip those fellas, ma'am," he said
confidentially, "hop into the Cathedral and say a few
prayers ; then skip out the side door. I'll send them
up the line about their business. That's if you're a
Catholic, ma'am," he added hopefully, "that about the
prayers. If you're not, no harm was meant, of course.
There's a lot to look at anyway, no matter what you'd
be if you were a Jehovah Witness itself and sure,
what you are is no business of mine, anyway/'
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 147
"Indeed, I dig with the right foot. There were
never any lefthanders in my family/' Mrs. Crowley
gave him a proud but friendly nod as she mounted into
the withdrawn quiet of the great church.
"Move on there now ! Get a move on with you !
You're blocking the sidewalk . . . move on !" the of-
ficer shouted gruffly at the crowd, which slowly eased
away to look for other quarry.
"By gee," he said to himself, settling back on his
heels to ruminate the matter, "for a real high-toned
lady she was very plain-spoken. 'Dig with the right
foot/ says she, the way I might put it myself. I must
recollect to ask Annie when I get home who she might
be. Annie would know when I describe her. She's
somebody very way up, and Anniell know from the so-
ciety pages."
Mrs. Crowley said her Rosary in the peace and
serenity of the exquisite Lady Chapel ; and then, tak-
ing the patrolman's advice, left the Cathedral by a
side door near the chancel. She discovered thank-
fully, walking over to Madison Avenue, that she had
successfully eluded the curious mob.
The great brownstone building, flanking three sides
of a cobbled courtyard opposite the Gothic peaks of
the Lady Chapel on Madison Avenue, interested her
at once. She decided, as all strangers in New York
decide, that it was the Cardinal's palace. She crossed
the street to examine the huge, gaunt edifice more
closely, hopeful that by chance a limousine might draw
into the courtyard and she might see His Eminence
alight. That surely would be something to tell Maria.
To the two Gothic buildings that flanked the Lady
148 HERSELF :
Chapel's projection she paid scant heed ; and there was
no one to tell her that in one of them the Cardinal
Archbishop kept his truly modest state.
The air was as crisp and clear as it had been in the
early morning. She walked up Madison Avenue slowly
and at Fifty-ninth Street stopped at a restaurant to
break her long fast. The budding green of the tree
tops in the park attracted her after she had break-
fasted. It would be pleasant she decided to walk in
the park, away from the peering, staring crowds, until
it was time for her to retrace her steps to the Cathe-
dral for Grand Vespers.
She walked interestedly about the great gilded statue
of General Sherman, several times to admire it from
all points of the compass. She wished she had thought
to bring a camera on the trip. Tomorrow she niust
buy one. Ann O'Byrne at the library had sent her
the life of Ellen Ewing Sherman, wife of the General.
Maria and she had read it, and given it in turn to Mary
Ellen Shea. They had all enjoyed it, but Mrs. Crow-
ley more than the rest. Mrs. Sherman's story brought
back her own mother and the stories she had told of
Civil War days. She recalled her mother saying that
she had sent two of her patchwork quilts an Irish
Chain and a Waves of the Ocean for Mrs. General
Sherman's table at the great Sanitation Commission
Fair in Chicago.
The park was almost free of people. She was as
well pleased. It was delightful to stroll in the warmth
of the sun, to meander along haphazardly. She was
none the less delighted to find that the path she had
unconsciously taken had led her to the zoo. The
shaggy, heavy-headed bison lowering at her from be-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 149
hind his bars brought back the stories of buffalo hunts
her father used to tell. He had served, after the War,
with the Seventh Infantry at Fort Laramie. Up at-
tic somewhere was a buffalo robe he had sent back to
her mother. She must look it up.
She watched the seals sunning themselves lazily for
a long time, hoping that one of them at least would
bestir himself and move into the pool. Close to
where she was standing, a seal asleep on the ledge just
inside the railing did raise his sleek head and look at
her mournfully. She cluck-clucked to him in an effort
to rouse him from his lethargy ; but he turned an even
more sorrowful look her way, rolled over and went to
sleep again.
"Now, wouldn't that jar you 1" she said exasperat-
edly, not realizing she had spoken aloud. A lone man
strolling about the enclosure smiled ; and, as she smiled
back to cover her confusion, raised his hat. "Talking
to myself ; sure sign, they say, that you have money in
the bank/' she remarked pleasantly.
She was afraid, then, that that was a very foolish re-
mark to make to an utter stranger. He might think
that she did have money in the bank, which was no
more than the truth ; and she had promised Mary
Ellen Shea so faithfully that she would pick up with no
strangers. She had broken that pledge so many times,
with the Duchess, with Mr. Klotz, with the policeman
that very morning, that it scarcely seemed worthwhile
remembering it now. The remark was out ; the harm
had already been done ; and surely this man she
scanned him carefully was a fine respectable citizen.
She did not know a great deal about men's clothes, but
enough to know that the black suit with the narrow
150 HERSELF :
white pin stripe was well tailored. His slices had a
high gloss ; his light derby, of the type her Patrick used
to wear, was well brushed ; and his linen was immacu-
late,
After all, what did Mary Shea know about the
dangers of the world ? Travel, Mrs. Crowley decided,
was broadening only if you took advantage of the op-
portunities it gave of meeting new and interesting
people. She smiled at her fellow stroller again, blandly ;
and began asking him questions about the habits of
seals. She was glad that she had not worn her seal-
skin cape. It might have looked very callous to be
talking about the animals, with their brothers' pelts
draped across her shoulders ; although maybe these
creatures before her were not Alaskan seals, but from
some place else, and would not recognize the skins.
Mrs. Crowley's new-found friend seemed to have a
wealth of information about the various animals in the
zoo. She walked about with him delightedly; and
listened with close attention as he gestured with his
unlighted cigar to the tenants of one cage after an-
other, and discoursed upon, them with ready, easy
knowledge of their idiosyncrasies and peculiarities.
An unusually well-spoken man, she thought ; she was
learning a great deal from him. Dogs and children
always recognized a clean heart, she well knew ; and
she supposed that that same thing applied to wild ani-
mals as well. A man like this, so fond of animals,
was a man no woman need be afraid of were he
twenty times a stranger. Besides, she was enjoying
herself hugely.
They walked through the lions' building and then
over to see the elephant, chatting as if they were old
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 151
friends. He had a handful of peanuts in his pocket,
and they fed them to the elephant together. She was
a trifle nervous, for his sake, over the sign asking people
not to feed the animals ; but, when he saw her looking
at it anxiously, he reassured her by telling her that he
was connected with the zoo in a more or less official
capacity. That made everything very simple. Any
lingering doubts about the wisdom of breaking her
pledge to Mary Shea were flung to the winds.
She clambered up the steep path to the dens of the
brown bear and the polar bear, holding on to the arm
which he gallantly offered her ; and later rippled with
laughter that echoed his own deeper bass, at the antics
of the swinging and chattering simians in the monkey
house. By the time they had taken another turn
about the central pool to see whether or not any seal
had decided to venture into the water, and she had
watched plump little raccoons clamber down their
tree trunk and hold out their handlike paws to her
companion as to a dear friend, she was as much at
ease with him as if he had been Father Will. There
was something of Father Will about him, she felt;
he reminded her very strongly of someone she knew
but try as she would she could not place the resem-
blance. One minute she thought she had it ; the next
minute it had eluded her.
She did find out that he was Catholic, like herself.
He had mentioned going to an earlier Mass than usual,
because his wife was confined to the house with a slight
cold. Usually on Easter Sunday they went to St.
Patrick's for the Cardinal's Mass. Mrs. Crowley was
very solicitous about the cold, and recommended the
white of egg beaten up and sweetened, and a little
152 HERSELF:
orange juice added, as excellent to ease a cough and
build up the lungs. Flaxseed syrup was good, too,
with a little black licorice and slippery elm bark mixed
into it He knew about flaxseed, and agreed about its
potency ; but the doctor had said that it was just a
slight head cold, over in a day or two, although he
thanked Mrs. Crowley for her interest.
She told him then about her trip to New York, and
about Maria Killoran, who, save for her mishap, would
have been with her today. He seemed as genuinely
interested in her conversation as she had been in his
discussion of the animals. He suggested that perhaps
she might be willing to join him on the terrace of the
zoo cafeteria for a cold drink, or for a hot cup of tea.
She told him that that was very thoughtful of him.
She would, indeed.
When they were seated, she decided that the walk
had made her too warm for tea. She wanted a cold
drink ; but the ice cream soda he suggested she was
afraid might be too chilling ; and a plain milk drink
did not seem quite what she wanted, either. She
looked about bewilderedly at the signs advertising
strange beverages of which she had never heard ; Orang-
une was one, Lemon Coolade and Mintasty were
others. Her eye caught one sign that she did recog-
nize, however. Her lips twitching with merriment and
her eyes twinkling gaily, Mrs. Patrick Crowley seated
in a strange restaurant, in a strange city, with a strange
man . . - calmly ordered a glass of beer ! A fig for
Maty Shea !
While the beer and his own preference, a cup of
coffee, were being drawn, she decided to let down all
her bars, and ask his advice candidly about the disturb-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 153
ance of the morning, and the threat that hung over St.
Eulalia's convent. She was certain that Irmengarde
had thoroughly frightened the marauder, and that word
had been passed about by this time that the convent
and the nuns could no longer be . harried with im-
punity ; but she felt the need of a man's viewpoint and
counsel.
He listened, with an attention so keen that it was
almost savage in its intensity, to her story of the perse-
cution of the nuns and the attempt to despoil the
chapel. He muttered angrily several times under his
breath as she told of the scene of destruction she had
found in the chapel on her chance return from her
early morning walk. He grunted approvingly as she
told how Sam and herself had seized the invader ; but
only when she came to the spanking did his concen-
tred look leave hers. He threw his head back quickly
then, and let out a roar of approving laughter. His
face was grim again at once, however. She tried to
make him promise that nothing would come of her
telling him the story ; but he said that something must
come of it ; that sort of thing was not going to be
allowed to happen in New York. He had some in-
fluence of a sort, he told her, and that influence would
at once be brought to bear. The nuns would be pro-
tected, not only against attack or annoyance, but
against any publicity. He would make certain of
that. No one need ever know that she had told him
of it; but the thing should never have happened
and should certainly never happen again !
His vehemence disturbed her. When he saw that,
he apologized quickly, with a warming smile that made
everything pleasant again. They walked together over
154 HERSELF:
to the Arsenal gate of the park, where he hailed a taxi
for her, insisting upon paying the driver himself in ad-
vance. It was too far for her to walk to the Cathedral
after their long tramp about the zoo, he said. For
himself, he added, he was going to go start things mov-
ing at once in the matter of which she had told him.
As he stood at the taxi door, speaking through the
opened window, she saw that the red rose of his bouton-
niere was slipping from its pin. She reached out her
gloved hands to fasten it more firmly ; but he as quickly
unpinned it, and handed it to her. "A souvenir of
our walk and talk/' he said, smiling. He went to say
something more ; but the taxi drew away from the
curb with a sudden jerk, and she could only lean back
and wave to him from the rear window. She was so
sorry she had not .gsked his name.
The same friendly policeman was on duty in front
of the Cathedral when Mrs. Crowley alighted from her
cab. He saw that she recognized him, and beamed all
over ; and his hand went up at once to the peak of his
cap. He had still not quite determined who she was,
but that she was a Somebody he had long since de-
cided, even without his Annie's help. He had been
turning the matter over slowly in his mind all after-
noon ; in his youth he had seen the Countess Annie
Leary in her carriage, and one of his daughters went
to lectures at the Carroll Club, which had been estab-
lished, he knew, by the former Mrs. Nicholas Brady
one of the Pope's duchesses, his girl had told him.
Mrs. Patrick Crowley, he was convinced, was of like
nobility, asking if he had seen Governor Smith and all.
With heavy gallantry, he suddenly grabbed her arm,
twisting up her cape, and convoyed her to the inner
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 155
door of the church. There, with a quickly whispered
aside, he turned her over to an immaculately groomed
usher, who escorted her with great reverential dignity
to a pew in the very front of the cathedral.
Mrs. Crowley was confused at being handed on from
man to man in such a very ceremonial fashion ; but
she contented herself with thinking that it was a tribute
to her years. It was pleasant to know that everyone
in New York seemed to put themselves out for an
old lady ; it would be something to tell Mary Ellen
Shea when she got home.
The splendid pageantry of the retinue of the Car-
dinal, as he entered the nave of the church from the
sacristy, carried to her all the power and majesty of the
Church ; the scarlet cassocks of the altar boys, and the
red bows under their cherubic an|l not too solemn
faces ; the crisply fresh linen surplices of the sanctuary
choir and those of thinly spun lace worn by the attend-
ing priests over their sombre cassocks ; the amaranthine
red of the vestments of the monsignori ; the Knights
of Malta an4 of St. Gregory, in dress uniform and
formal evening clothes, directly attendant upon the
Cardinal ; and then the slender slight figure of His
Eminence garbed in all the splendor of the cardinalatial
robes, ermine and rich, red watered silk, the train of
his cappa magna carried by two pages in mediaeval
black velvet and white satin. The congregation sank
to their knees as he passed, his fingers raised in bless-
ing.
Mrs. Crowley sat back and told her beads, and lis-
tened to the sonorous chanting of the priests. The
magnificent cadences of the psalms rose and fell and
rose again : Dixit Dominus Domino meo : Sede a dex-
15 6 HERSELF:
tris meis. . . Judicabit in nationibus, implebit minas :
conquassabit capita in terra multomm.
"Yes/ 7 she thought, as she felt the reverential stir-
rings of the great congregation, pew upon pew and
row upon row, that filled the vast nave of the Cathe-
dral, "St. Patrick's is not a church apart from the
throng. It is a cathedral of the people, of all the peo-
ple everywhere in the great city, just as truly as if be-
fore it spread the city's marketplace. The people
built it for the glory of God that they might worship
Him within its confines; not for the glory of the
Church nor for the glory of bishops and priests. It is,
truly," she reflected, "a House of Prayer ; and never
more truly so than now when its great walls and vaulted
ceiling feel the reverberation of the aspirations of thou-
sands. Today/' she told herself, "today, I have really
known St. Patrick's/'
She followed the Latin of the chant as she told her
beads. It was so familiar to her from the days when
she, herself, had sung the vesper psalms that she could
hear and pray at the same time. The chanting helped
her meditations upon the Mysteries of the Rosary;
but occasionally she let her beads rest in her lap, to
reflect more deeply on the words of the psalmist :
Dominus a dextris tuis, confregit in die irae suae reges.
The Lord at thy right hand, hath broken kings in the
day of His wrath. Judicabit in nationibus. . . He
shall judge among nations. . .
She laid her rosary aside altogether, as the choir be-
gan The Magnificat. It had ever been one of her
favorite prayers. She recited the Latin of the canticle
each night in her evening devotions : Magnificat anima
mea Dominum. Et exultavit Spiritus meus in Deo sa-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 157
lutari meo. jQuia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae. . .
My soul doth magnify the Lord. And my spirit hath
rejoiced in God my Saviour. Because He hath re-
garded the humility of His handmaid.
And then the words of prophecy : For behold from
henceforth all generations shall call me blessed ; ecce
enim ex hoc beatam rne dicent omnes generationes.
The chanting of the choir swelled out from the sanc-
tuary into the vaultings of the nave, and fell back
reverently as the voices of the priests were muted.
Mrs. Crowley felt a quick stirring of impatience with
those who claimed the same zealous patriotic Ameri-
canism as she, yet who worked to foster the triumph
of a communistic republic in Spain. In one breath
they hailed the Genoese Columbus as the discoverer
of America ; and in another they would destroy the
Catholic Spain from which he sailed. "It wasn't in
the Martin Luther, he sailed/' she said to herself con-
temptuously, "but in the Santa Maria ; and 'twas from
a convent of holy friars he sailed ; and 'twas to them
that he came back. I know that much from my read-
ing, even if Fm no college professor or what have you.
It was Saint Mary he prayed to, to get his start, and to
her he gave thanks for his safe return ; and I don't
doubt at all that many's the night he walked the deck
of the little boat, all alone on the sea, and said his beads
to her for a good wind and low waves.
"And now these these patriots, going on about
democracy and republican institutions ; and trying des-
perately to do all in their power to help those who
would kill and murder the same friars who gave Co-
lumbus his start, and drive out of the land all vestige
of his holy Patron. Fools of the world ! And if it
158 HERSELF:
wasn't for Our Lady and those same friars, where
would these patriots be today ? Who knows but the
black Arabs might not have got it into their heads to
come over, or the Japanese ; and settled the place with
no thought of democracy or a republic at all."
She resolutely swept her mind clear of impatience
and rancor, however, as the choir began the Benedic-
tion hymn, O Salutaris Hostia, and the tabernacle door
was opened. The pungent odor of incense drifted
back to where she knelt. . .
Mrs. Killoran was sitting in a comfortable chair at
the window of her room when Mrs. Crowley returned
to the convent The doctor had been and gone, she
said, a very pleasant young man who reminded her a
great deal of Dr. O'Connor at home. Mrs. Crowley
would have enjoyed meeting him. She told him that ;
that her friend, Mrs. Patrick Crowley, was the woman
he should meet. He had made believe, she smiled,
that he thought her a much younger woman than her
age. Just wait until you meet my friend, Mrs. Crow-
ley, she had told him.
"But what about your ankle ?" Mrs. Crowley broke
in upon Maria's gentle retelling of her banter with the
doctor.
"There's nothing wrong with it. It was just a twist
I gave it. He bound it up and said it would be as
well to keep off it today and tomorrow . . . but it
wasn't really a sprain. Fve been thinking, since he
went, that I might have gone along with you after all.
Did you enjoy yourself ? Did you get your wish ?
Did Sister San Diego's prayers to Saint Theresa make
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 159
your wish come true ? Oh, I know they did ! Tell
me all about it."
"Then, indeed, they did not/' said Mrs. Crowley
decidedly. "They did not come true. Not a peak at
the Governor did I get, not one peak. He wasn't in
the Easter parade at all. I was that disappointed."
"Well, you know, Abbie, you did have a lot to say
the other day to Bernadette and myself about the
newer saints. I didn't think of it at the time, because
I felt you were just talking . . . but maybe Saint
Theresa didn't like that. I felt so certain that she
would heed little Sister's prayers."
"Indeed, then she wasn't the only one paying no
heed to prayers. If the little Sister prayed hard to
her ; then I prayed twice as hard to Saint Patrick. It
was for that I lit the candle and made my wish at St.
Vincent's. That's the worst of not having a saint of
your own. Here I was christened Abigail, of all
things ; a regular Yankee name. They might as well
have called me Temperance or Prudence or some name
like that ... for if there was a saint named Abigail,
then I never heard tell of her. I always thought :
why couldn't they have called me Agnes or Cecilia like
a proper Christian, instead of bowing me down with
the old Yankee word for housewife ?"
"So you didn't see him ? Now that was too bad,"
said Mrs. Killoran dexterously turning the conversa-
tion. "But did you enjoy yourself ? I see you got a
flower anyway."
Mrs. Crowley had tossed her cape loosely across the
bed. She retrieved it now, and transferred the red rose
pinned on it to the bosom of her dress.
160 HERSELF :
"I picked up a man in the park, Maria !" she bent
over and lowered her voice in exaggerated secrecy. "I
picked up a man in the park and he gave me this rose
... to remember him by/' she drew her voice out
dramatically.
"Just as soon as my back is turned/' Maria shook her
head in great amusement. "You villain. Don't stop
there. Tell me all about it."
Nothing loath, Mrs. Crowley sat down on the edge
of the bed and recounted with the infinite detail
that she knew Mrs. Killoran loved the delightful
half hour she had spent with the stranger in the park
what he said, and what she said in turn ; she de-
scribed his appearance fully and completely ; she took
Maria about with them from one cage to another;
and she brought the story to a grand climax with their
sitting down together on the terrace of the restaurant ;
and her ordering of the beer.
Mrs. Killoran was convulsed with merriment. "Oh,
dear I Oh, dear I" she cried into her handkerchief.
"And the doctor thought I belied my years. I was
truer than I thought in saying he should meet you.
But, Abbie," her voice grew serious, "you couldn't tell
what kind of a a card sharp, or something, a man
like that might be. You know card sharps are very
well dressed, they say."
"You're as bad as Mary Shea," Mrs. Crowley's tone
was disgusted. "You certainly don't think I invited
him down here to play whist or Casino with us, do
you ? I can spot a real good man when I see him.
He was a Catholic, he told me so." She did not re-
veal to Maria that she had spoken to him of the out-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 161
rage in the convent chapel that morning. "And be-
sides/' she continued, "he had an official post with the
zoo. By the way/' she said inquiringly, "Little Sister
wasn't at the door when I came in and I didn't catch
sight of Mother Brigid as I came through the halls.
And where is that bouncing Betsey that I introduced
you to this morning, Connie's friend, the athlete ? I
thought she might be up here with you. Too bad for
you to be sitting alone."
"I didn't mind. Miss Hickey was with me until a
short while ago, and then Little Sister came for her.
Sister Brigid sent for her. There's some sort of a
meeting going on downstairs in the parlors ; and they
wanted Miss Hickey for some reason."
"Hmnh !" Mrs. Crowley said thoughtfully. "Then
I'd better join them." Surely, she thought, that limb
of Satan has not been back again. If she has, and if
she has put one of her dirty little fingers on my flowers,
I'll . . . I'll . . .
"Good Heavens, Abbie," Maria exclaimed, "you look
as though you were about to commit the Borden mur-
ders ! What ails you ?"
Mrs. Crowley had risen to her feet automatically,
moved by the stress of her emotion. She stood facing
the door, pressing her hands tightly together to help
her achieve a measure of calm.
It was so that Mother Brigid of Ireland found her
as she came bustling along the hall, Irmengarde and
little Sister San Diego in her train.
Mrs. Crowley started when she saw the nuns. She
was at once galvanized into action. "Has that . . . ?"
she began, A quick, shrill cry from Sister San Diego
162 HERSELF :
stopped her short. The tiny figure of the portress
dashed from behind Mother Brigid and rushed to Mrs.
Crowley's side excitedly. Her pointed finger trembled
as it touched the red rose pinned upon Mrs. Crowley's
dress.
"Oh/' said Mother Brigid, her voice round with
pleasure, "then you got the wish you wanted. Sor
San Diego has been praying so hard. Saint Theresa
did grant it to you !"
''But she didn't, Mother Brigid, that's the worst of
it. I hate to have you tell Little Sister so ; but I did
not get my wish/*
Mother Brigid spoke fluently and quickly in Span-
ish to Sor San Diego ; but the tiny portress shook her
head and smiled the words away. In torrents of lan-
guage, she answered Mother Saint Brigid. It was plain
she was re-affirming that Saint Theresa had not failed
her.
"Truly, I don't understand it. Sor San Diego seems
so positive," said Mother Brigid in a puzzled tone.
"She is so certain ; and she is such a pious little thing
that I don't want to contradict her too strongly. She
has such great faith. It's the rose that convinces her."
"I don't know, I'm sure, Mother," answered Mrs.
Crowley. "I did tell Maria here where I got the rose,
but I didn't think," she added ruefully, "I'd have to
confess my sins to the world at large. I met a man
at the zoo in Central Park, and got talking to him,
and . . . and ... it was he gave me the flower. I
hope," she said with a tinge of asperity as she noticed
a strange look on Irmengarde's face, "I hope at my age,
I can talk to a strange man, and even accept a flower
from him, with no harm. He was a good Catholic
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 163
man, and he had a post in the zoo. He was night
guardian, he told me."
Irmengarde let out an irreverent whoop. "Say that
again ! What was he ?" she cried.
"He was the night guardian, an unofficial dignity/'
said Mrs. Crowley firmly ; "that's what he told me, and
I believed him. If it wasn't that his wife had a cold
he would have been at the Cardinal's Mass. As it was
he went to an earlier one."
"Did you tell him about this morning's work down
here, by any chance?" Irmengarde's usually clipped
speech was turned into a drawl of dawning compre-
hension.
"And if I did ?" queried Mrs. Crowley pertly.
"Reverend Mother," said Irmengarde, slapping a
clenched fist against the palm of her other hand tri-
umphantly, "that explains it all ! Tell her who's been
here. Tell her whom we just talked with."
"Miss Hickey means, Mrs. Crowley, that the Com-
missioner of Police ... I think you call him . . .
the very head of the policing system, has just been
here. He knew all about our persecution. And pledged
that we would never be molested again. He was very
upset about it. He seems so proud of his department.
He wished we had told him at once. Even now a de-
tective is somewhere outside, guarding the convent,
although I told him that was not necessary.
"But he said, too, and this is what we couldn't under-
stand, that a very important personage, a most notable
personage, had come to his home this afternoon
to make a personal complaint about the matter to
him. This man you spoke to ... could it be ...
that . . . ?"
164 HERSELF
"Glory be to God/' said Mrs. Crowley slowly, "and
I knew he reminded me of someone 1" Her face was
awe-stricken.
"Wasn't there a story in our own Millington paper/'
said Mrs. Killoran, sitting up at once in fascinated won-
derment, "about someone being made night guardian
of the Central Park Zoo ? Wasn't it ? ... surely it
was . . ."
"Don't say it/' said Mrs. Crowley, shaking her head
slowly. "Don't say it, Maria, until I take off this rose
and give it to dear Little Sister here. Well, of all
things," she repeated slowly. "Well, of all things.
And there are those that don't believe in prayer.''
CHAPTER VII
HE NEXT few days of Easter Week
passed uneventfully. Irmengarde Hickey
moved from the Carroll Club to St.
Eulalia's. Her room adjoined that of
Mrs. Killoran, and she and Maria be-
came fast friends at once.
Irmengarde was returning from a walk with frail,
tense Sor Santa Cecilia on Easter Sunday noon when
the taxicab bearing Maria and Bernadette back to the
convent drew up before the entrance door. Miss
Hickey immediately assumed full charge of the pa-
tient. It was her sturdy arm that guided Maria
through the hall and up the inner stairway to her room.
From that moment until Mother Saint Brigid sum-
moned her to the conference in the convent parlors
she hovered over Maria like an unusually motherly
hen. And in the succeeding days to Mrs. Crowley's
great annoyance but to her patient's quiet amusement
Irmengarde would permit no one but herself to ad-
minister to the semi-invalid.
Irmengarde's disregard of what Mrs. Crowley
thought were her prior rights after all Maria and she
were friends of years' standing ; if anyone should take
care of Maria it should be she caused her to revert
to her opinion of the girl, sight unseen.
"That one oversteps herself ; she doesn't know her
place/' she told Maria caustically in one of the few
moments Irmengarde allowed them together. "It's
just what I said when we were getting off the boat.
165
166 HERSELF :
She acts as if she were the only pebble on the beach.
She's Constance Casey all over again, only bigger and
huskier. Now, you take Bernadette O'Brien ; there's
a different story entirely. She never pushes herself ;
she wouldn't barge in where she isn't needed. Berna-
dette is a very sweet girl. I'd like to do something nice
for her. But this other one/' she threw out her hands
in a gesture of disparagement, "I can't see her at all.
She gets on my nerves."
"They're both sweet girls, as nice girls as ever I met
- outside my own Theresa and my Mary," Maria in-
sisted loyally. "The trouble with you and Irmengarde,
Abbie, is that you are too much alike. That's why you
rub each other the wrong way. At least, that's why
the girl seems to rub you the wrong way for she cer-
tainly has only the nicest things to say about you."
"I like that," said Mrs. Crowley, "placing all the
blame on me. Kind father to her that she and I are
alike. Just two peas in the pod we are, I suppose. I
think it's very unkind of you, Maria, to even suggest
such a thing."
Mrs. Crowley stalked indignantly from the room in
a huff. She was very disappointed in Maria Killoran.
She never would have believed it possible that Maria
should ever turn against her so, and take the part of an
utter stranger. Her conscience smote her when she
reached her own room. Of course maybe Maria
was right. The girl had certainly been very sweet to
Maria. Mrs. Crowley would say that much for her.
She admitted that to herself, honestly, if grudgingly.
The whole trouble was the girl was too too forceful ;
that was the word. Mrs. Crowley pinned on her bon-
net and fastened her cape, and went out for a lonely
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 167
walk ; but she had convinced herself as she dressed that
of all creatures in the world, a forceful woman was most
to be abhorred. That, and a namby-pamby man.
A broad-shouldered, boyish-faced young man in
clothes unusually well cut for that neighborhood was
sauntering slowly past as she descended the convent
steps. He halted in his easy stride as he saw her, and
raised his hat. She saw he wished the chance to speak
with her.
The chip still wavered uncertainly upon her shoul-
der. "Do I know you, young man ?" she asked coldly.
"Not yet/ 7 his white teeth flashed in a smile. "I was
just going to introduce myself. Fve been assigned
from headquarters to keep an eye out here for the
next few days. Fm on the plain-clothes squad. I
heard all about your adventures yesterday, and recog-
nized you from the description, so I thought we ought
to get acquainted/'
"Oh, you did, did you ?" Mrs. Crowley was very
suspicious. "How do I know he is a detective ?" she
cautioned herself. "He's probably one of those sly
flim-flam artists Mary Shea told me to be on my guard
against/ 7 Detectives were catalogued by Mrs. Crow-
ley in two schools, the heavy-set men of Maria's age on
the police force in Millington, and the Lord Peter
Whimseys and Philo Vances of the mystery novels Ann
O'Byrne occasionally sent her from the public library.
This young man was in neither category.
"A detective, eh ? A real detective. Well, well I
You don't tell me," she spoke up with false brightness.
"Or maybe you could tell me the answers to several
things that have been bothering me this good while.
Whatever happened to Charlie Ross, and did John
168 HERSELF :
Wilkes Booth get away? I'm sure you're the man
knows who struck Billy Patterson, and whether it was
He, She or It committed the Borden murders. Or
since you're such a very young detective, here's an
easier one. Did you ever find out how old was Ann ?"
The young man flushed. "I don't see why you
should feel you must make fun of me. I'm sorry I
spoke. I I admired you from what I heard of you
yesterday," he said stoutly, "and since Fm on duty here
I thought I'd like to be friends."
"Trot out your badge and your papers I" com-
manded Mrs. Crowley peremptorily. His knowledge
of the affair in the chapel and his hesitating compli-
ment somewhat altered cases. Still, no wool was to
be pulled over her eyes.
The badge and papers seemed very authentic, and
Gerald Murphy was a good name. "Still, you look
very young/' she said, retreating as gracefully as she
could but still holding her battle-flag high,
"Fm not so very young," Murphy replied cheerfully.
"I've been out of college six years. Fm on the special
squad. You know, the Commissioner feels that young
fellows like myself can be as valuable as some of the
old-timers. We can get in places that they couldn't.
Night clubs and places like that."
"Well, we'll shake hands then," said Mrs. Crowley,
after a short pause. "Wrong again, Abigail," she told
herself, "twice in the one morning. Everyone seems
well able to prove that you got out of bed on the
wrong side this morning."
"You know, my father was talking about you last
night," said Murphy eagerly. "I didn't realize it was
you, though, until I saw you coming down the stairs.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 169
Then I put two and two together in my bright de-
tective manner and I knew it was you he was talking
about/'
"But I don't know your father, I'm sure. I never
met the man in iny life."
"Yes, you did . . . but of course you didn't know
he was my father. He's a cop, too ; that's why I always
wanted to be one, even in high school and at Ford-
ham. He's a sergeant. He was on special detail at
St. Pat's yesterday. He talked with you a couple of
times, he said. He was asking Ma if she knew who
you were. He thought you were a duchess or some-
thing," Murphy grinned infectiously. "That's how
he described you to Ma. He was sure he'd seen your
picture somewhere ; and he and Ma finally dug it out
in an old copy of Life, with a story about your having
a ticket on the Sweepstakes favorite."
"Oh, for the land's sake !" said Mrs. Crowley at
once. "That picture ! I looked as if I was born in
the year One I didn't even know the fellow was tak-
ing it. I was just coming out of church, and he
snapped me without so much as a 'by your leave.'
Then, your father was a bright one to be able to tell
me from that picture. I looked like something the cat
dragged in. So that was your father at St. Patrick's.
Well, I must say, he's a very nice man ... a very
pleasant man. And I'll bet he's very proud of you,
too," she added generously.
She shook hands again with the detective, and said
he must be sure to remember her to his father, and to
his mother too. She was very certain that the safety
of the nuns and the convent could not be in better
hands. A very agreeable and pleasant young man,.
1?0 HERSELF :
and no doubt very clever indeed, she reflected, as she
walked off. It might be well to call up Bernadette
O'Brien, and have her come down to the convent
while Detective Murphy was on duty there. A clean-
cut Catholic college man like him was just the sort
of man Bernadette should know; and maybe even
know better. Mrs. Patrick Crowley very definitely
saw the beginnings of a romance. She was very pleased
with herself, as she took the subway to Barclay Street
to visit old St. Peter's Church, and to go through the
church goods shops seeking souvenirs she might bring
back to Millington.
To Mrs. Crowley's increased annoyance, Irmen-
garde insisted that Mrs. Killoran remain in her room
for several days. Such cosseting she had never heard
of I And Maria so complacent about it I But Mrs.
Killoran, who knew even better than John and the
girls that she had truly needed a rest, in her wisdom
decided that after the strenuous weekend three or four
days of relaxation would better enable her to continue
in the vigorous pace already set by her indomitable
friend Abbie. Mrs. Crowley soon knew greater irri-
tation. Detective Gerald Murphy, after meeting
Bernadette and telling Mrs. Crowley later what a
charming girl she was, seemed to have been smitten
not by her flowerlike loveliness but by the more rugged
enchantments of the now detested Miss Hickey. It
was small consolation to Mrs. Crowley that Irmen-
garde very emphatically disdained his attentions. What
right had she to toss her head so coolly with a lovely
young man like that hovering about ready to be of
service when she was convoying Sister Santa Cecilia or
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 171
Sor San Diego to the park or to the markets ? It
made Mrs. Crowley so mad to see the poor fellow lift-
ing his hat eagerly, hoping for a pleasant smile, and
getting a nod in return that was almost the cut direct.
"I'd like to give her a good shaking/' Mrs. Crowley
said to herself indignantly more than once, "and I
would if it wouldn't be like trying to shake sense into
the Rock of Gibraltar. The poor fellow I"
She was very restless in the days of Maria's confine-
ment indoors. She made several unimportant small
trips about the city, but she missed Maria's companion-
ship. The places she really wanted to visit were those
that they had planned upon together. She would not
dream of stealing a march upon Maria ; Radio City
and the Empire State Building and the theatres must
wait until Maria could join her.
She continued her daily chats with Sam Klotz, and
with Gerald Murphy ; and paid a visit once, on her
own, to Klein's in Union Square ; but the days seemed
very long and the evenings interminable. Sam brought
fresh flowers for the convent altar each day by her or-
der. She liked Sam, and she knew Sam revered her.
It was only through her, he told her one day she met
him on the street in holiday raiment, that his Becky
was able to have her new dishes for the Passover, so
far behind his business was before she came to be a
neighbor ; and now, in every way, it was picking up.
Becky Klotz showed her own appreciation by appear-
ing at the convent door one day during Passover with
a basket filled with matzos and Seder cakes of her own
baking. "For the Sister nuns," she explained to Ir-
mengarde who happened to be in the lower hall and
opened the door to save Sor San Diego's steps. "I
17 a HERSELF :
said to Sammy this morning, for the Sister nuns I
should save some of my baking. It don't hurt to be
neighborly, isn't it ? Sure thing. The way it is now,
Jews and Catholics got to stick together . . . that's
what I say. Tell the good Sister nuns good luck and
best wishes of Passover from Mr. and Mrs. Samuel
Klotz."
But Mrs. Patrick Crowley had not come to New
York _ of all places to do nothing more interesting
nor exciting than to chat with Gerald Murphy and
Sam Klotz and the man in the Coffee Pot at the corner.
Monday was a dull enough day for her, and Tuesday
dragged interminably ; but Wednesday ! "third the
worst of all the game" she quoted to herself, irritably.
She went into Mrs. Killoran's room after dinner
and found Irmengarde teaching Maria a new form of
two-handed bridge. The lesson was going so slowly
that it appeared that it would last all evening. Mrs.
Crowley had little patience with card-playing ; it was
in her freely given opinion a waste of time and energy.
She refused to be inveigled into the lesson, and picked
up the new Isabel Clarke novel that she had brought
back from Barclay Street for Maria. She could not
lose herself in it. After a few ineffectual efforts to
follow the thread of the story she laid it aside, and ex-
cused herself. She thought she might as well go to
ted early.
She undressed slowly and had a warm bath ; and, in
her quilted dressing gown, sat down on the bed, a
handful of curlers in her lap, prepared to do up her
front hair in 'kids' that her pompadour might have a
wave in the morning.
She had her "kids" placed and was forlornly braid-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 173
ing her pigtails, when her mood, very capricious at best,
changed with a suddenness that startled her. The
one thing she did not want to do, she realized, was to
go to bed early. On the contrary, her desire was
strong for excitement and adventure, for music and
color and gaiety. She sat a few moments longer, tast-
ing a heady wine of rebellion against the dullness of
the past few days. Then, with an emphatic nod of
triumphant decision, she loosed her braids, untwisted
her curlers, and swiftly and deftly molded her hair
back into its customary dignified arrangement. From
the drawer of the bureau she took the sheerest of her
service weight black silk stockings ; from her cretonne
shoebag, the black suede pumps with the cut steel
buckles that she had bought on Madison Avenue ; and
from its hanger in the cupboard the long, trailing black
taffeta dinner gown that she had modelled for the
childlike delight of the nuns.
She was quickly dressed, even to the pearls at her
ears and about her neck, and the low pearl tiara that
gleamed against the softer whiteness of her hair. She
doubted whether she really liked the tiara. She stood
gazing at her reflection in the mirror as she drew on
her long white gloves. It gave her rather too much of
a look of Queen Mary for her absolute liking. The
queen was undoubtedly a very well preserved woman,
and, in a way, for her age, a handsome woman ; but
Mrs. Patrick Crowley, for all her glee at being able to
dress up 'fit to kill/ wanted nothing to do with English
royalty, not even a faint fancied resemblance. She
satisfied herself at last that since her pearl necklace
was long and flowing, and not wrapped about her neck
in choking rows, like the boned, net collars that Mary
i 74 HERSELF :
Shea still persisted in wearing, the possible likeness was
not important. "It is just that two old women can-
not help looking about the same in similar clothes/'
she decided. "The thing of it is/' she reminded her-
self complacently, "that now I have the clothes I can
wear them as well as she can ; but on the other hand
I'd hate to trust that Queen Mary to do my spring
cleaning. She probably hasn't the faintest idea that
damp tea leaves on the carpet help to sweep it clean,
and that there's nothing like egg shells to clear coffee.
And if I have never unveiled a monument nor opened
a bazaar, itself, I've made many a bazaar ready to be
opened, and my potato salad at a coffee supper was
always something everyone raved about."
She packed her nightgown, her dressing gown and
slippers, and her toilet articles, in her smallest dress-
ing case, slipped out a roll of bills from its safe cache
in the base of the plaster statue of Saint Anthony on
the dresser, set her long seal cape about her shoulders,
and tiptoed down the hall. She was just not going to
tell Maria a thing about what she was up to ; there was
a note on the dresser for Mother Saint Brigid that she
would be away from the convent for the night, but
would return in the morning. That was enough for
anyone to know. "Ill not be stopped," she said to
herself. "I'm old enough to do what I want to do,
and well able, indeed, to take care of myself. I don't
have to have any Boadicea telling me what to do."
Her sniff was palpable as she passed Mrs. Killoran's
door, and heard Irmengarde's positive voice telling
Maria that it was her turn to bid.
The outer convent door was locked and bolted, but
she had no compunction in leaving the bolt and chain
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 175
undone. The snap lock would hold the door fast,
and Sor San Diego always left the bolts undrawn if
any of the guests were to be late in returning to St.
Eulalia's.
Mrs. Crowley was elated to get away from the con-
vent unobserved. Explanations were tiresome at best.
It was too much to hope that a cruising taxicab might
come through the street when she wanted it ; but there
was always one or two outside the Coffee Pot at the
corner, and that was just a step. She stole down the
convent steps softly, for all the need for stealth was
over.
Then, suddenly. "And now whither?" a voice
hailed her. It was young Murphy. She had not no-
ticed him in the shadows. "Where are you going, my
pretty maid ? Up to some mischief, no doubt/' Then,
as he saw the dressing case, "Ah-ha, me proud beauty,
making off with the convent plate. It is well for the
honor of St. Eulalia's that dauntless Gerald Murphy
was on guard this night. Hand over the jewels of the
Madonna ! I demand it in the name of the Law I"
"For Heaven's sake, keep quiet/' said Mrs. Crowley
pettishly, "you'll wake the entire neighborhood. Stop
your foolishness, and go get me a cab. I've got thin
stockings on, and I'll have rheumatism in the morning
if I have to stay here any longer bandying words with
you."
"But, seriously, where are you going all alone?
Has something happened ? Couldn't you get er
Miss Hickey to go with you ? You know New York
isn't the safest place in the world at night."
"I neither want nor need Miss Hickey as a com-
panion/' she answered tartly, "and if you had the sense
1? 6 HERSELF :
you were born with you wouldn't either. It's none
of your business where Fm going and I was taking
care of myself very nicely, thank you, when both you
and your Miss Hickey were in diapers. Are you go-
ing to get me that cab, or must I walk down to the
Coffee Pot?"
"Quarter, ma'am, quarter I" young Murphy cried,
throwing up his hands. "Don't shoot ! Ill get you
the cab."
He was back with one in a moment. He leaped
easily from the running-board as it drew up before her.
"Where shall I tell the driver to go ?" he asked art-
fully, as he handed Mrs. Crowley's dressing case in to
her.
"Wouldn't you like to know ?" she answered teas-
ingly. "Move on !" she ordered the cabman. As the
car drew away from the curb she leaned her head out
suddenly and called back, "To the wildest night club
in town !" The detective stared after the ^ retreating
taxicab ruefully, scratching his head. He did not like
it at all, he told himself ; but what could you do with
a woman like that? He was half tempted to ring
St. Eulalia's doorbell and ask Miss Hickey the answer.
Mrs. Crowley had the cabman drive her first to the
Waldorf-Astoria. The cabbie's name, she was pleased
to learn from his identification card, was Saul Gold-
berg. He was a friend, then, of Joe who ran the Coffee
Pot. She had heard Joe mention him. She pushed
back the shutter and told him this, on the way up-
town ; and when he drew up at the hotel asked him to
wait for her. It was just as well, she reflected, to
spend a little more money and be sure of the man you
were riding with. "I may be old and sometimes a fool
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 177
though not often but I am not an old f ooL Nor
was I born yesterday/'
Goldberg had driven to the Lexington Avenue en-
trance. As she sailed through the outer doors, and a
bellboy seized her dressing case, she eyed the wide
staircase dubiously. She was not fond of stairs ; but
since she had an even more active dislike of elevators,
and a rapid glance showed none readily at hand, she
waved the boy up the steps, willy-nilly.
The clerk was much too obsequious for her taste,
and for her temper, already ruffled by her climb. She
found it difficult to make him understand that, while
she wanted to engage a room for the night, she had no
wish to see the room at the moment, that she was only
anxious to be off and away ; and that as long as her
dressing case was placed in the right room, and the
number of it given her so that she might ask for her
key when she returned, she was perfectly satisfied.
She won the battle, of course, and her wish pre-
vailed, as she intended it should ; but the slight argu-
ment, she knew well, was very close to the last straw
that her temper could stand. "One more trial today/'
she reflected ominously, "and I will not be responsible
for what happens. I may be sorry later, but I am in no
mood to be trifled with. If I lose my temper altogether,
it will go hard with the man that provokes it."
She had catechized Saul Goldberg on the way up
from Stuyvesant Square on the night clubs of New
York, but his answers had not completely satisfied her.
She was certain that, as a friend of Joe Coffee Pot and
knowing she knew Joe, he was offering for her choice
a selection of glorified tearooms habituated by old
women like herself who were harmlessly playing at
178 HERSELF :
being devilish. She wanted the real thing or nothing.
What was the term the Millington paper had used to
describe some of the gayer bloods who had announced
their intention of making merry on the last trip of the
Girl of Plymouth? Cafe society, those were the
words. That was what she wanted to see, and those
were the people she wanted to be with ; the night club
that was in favor with 'cafe society' was the night club
she wanted to visit, and that one only. "If it's going
to be a wedding, let it be a wedding," she told herself ;
"I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb/'
She was certain that none of the night clubs men-
tioned by the taxi-driver were centres of 'cafe society/
She remembered none of those names in the Beebe
man's articles in the Saturday Transcript. She had
stopped skipping his columns when it seemed probable
that she might go to New York. She thought them
very silly reading, and the people Beebe wrote about
even sillier ; but she was sorry now that she had not
copied down the names of a few places the man always
seemed to be frequenting.
She looked about the Waldorf lobby, trying to
choose someone who might have the information she
wanted. A young man and woman in evening dress
standing at the head of the staircase seemed possibili-
ties. Mrs. Crowley went over to them.
The young woman was too busy deepening the red
of her encarnadined lips to turn about. Mrs. Crow-
ley spoke again ; but the bare back presented to her
merely quivered at the shoulder blades, indifferently.
The young man, although he could have done with a
chin, Mrs. Crowley noticed, was more obliging. He
stared at her over his cigarette as she repeated her
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 179
question. "A point gained/' she thought grimly. "At
least he bothers to look at me."
But the question was too much for him. He re-
moved the cigarette ; and, still gaping, muttered to
his companion. "Hmnh ! Adenoids/' decided Mrs.
Crowley. "A likely pair !"
The girl turned a sullen, resentful face about. ''May
word/' she intoned with heavy affectation, "the Flitteh-
Flutteh is the aown-lih place that isn't just too fflthih.
But, rillih . . . !" she lifted her shoulders heavily and
let them droop again; her mascaraed eyelashes rose
and fell disdainfully as for the first time she bothered
to notice her questioner.
"Thenkya," snapped the histrionic Mrs. Patrick
Crowley. As she turned away, in a sibilant whisper,
still heavy with the accents of Mayfair she hoped
she maliciously breathed to the girl a bit of informa-
tion of which she in turn had become aware. "The
snip r she said to herself furiously. "With her airs ;
and her petticoat in a lump on the floor around her
ankles !" Mrs. Crowley enjoyed the short ride to the
Flitter-Flutter Club.
The doorman with a pleasant Irish face above the
Elizabethan raff, the Arab burnoose and the skin-tight
Regency trousers that formed his livery, said to her in
a low, confidential voice, as she paid the cabman, and
prepared to walk up under the marquise to the club
entrance, "This is a night club, ma'am. Are you sure
you've got the right place? It do be rather gay in
there sometimes, they tell me."
Mrs. Crowley granted him a friendly grin of thanks.
"It's a night club I'm looking for/' she told him.
"Don't bother about me. But what kind of a get-up
i8o HERSELF:
is that you have on ? What are you supposed to rep-
resent ? All you need is a Caroline hat, and you'd be
elected king of the tinkers/'
"I would, ma'am, indeed, for a fact" He grinned
back. "That's all I need is an old-time Caroline hat.
It's not much of a job ; but what can you do in times
like this ? You've got to take what you can get and
say nothing. I'd quit it in a minute if anything better
turned up. And more by the same token, if there
should be any trouble in there, and you needed help
it's not the place for you, but you know your own mind
just call out my name Barney Fallon is the name
and I'll be right there, no matter. If there was a
fight, itself, it would be an excuse for quitting. I
know I look like a bloody wren-boy."
Mrs. Crowley thanked him kindly for his concern
and promised to call upon him if need be. His solici-
tude touched her. She entered the Flitter-Flutter
Club in a very amiable mood. Perhaps her anger
would not be unduly aroused after all ; her fit of tem-
per was dying down.
She crossed the narrow vestibule of the supper club
and pushed open the windowed door that led into
the restaurant, waving away the Pierrette who had
wished to seize and check her seal cape. Mrs. Crow-
ley was taking no chances on being forced to sit in a
draught.
As she stood gazing over the tables and the dance
floor, waiting for the maitre d'hotel, who, card in hand,
was hurrying toward her, she felt a tinge of disappoint-
ment. The club was only half the size of Carrolton
Hall in Millington. The two rows of tables about the
walls left barely enough dance space, she estimated,
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 181
for one set of the quadrille. A poky, little place to be
the headquarters of cafe society !
As the maitre cf hotel reached her her gaze returned
from a quick interested scrutiny of the men and women
seated at the small tables. Most women, she made a
mental note to tell Maria, seem to be only wearing
skirts this season. Without craning her head too curi-
ously, she could not see a bodice in the place. It was
a wonder they didn't all catch their deaths . . . and
small loss, probably, she was commenting to herself
agreeably when the maitre d'hote! interrupted her.
"Madame has a reservation ? No ?" he threw his
hands wide in sorrowful deprecation, without waiting
for an answer. "Then, we are so sorry. Every table
... it is taken. Nowhere could I put another table
for Madame. Some other time, Madame, if Madame
will make the reservation. But tonight ... as you
see/' He shrugged expressively.
The shrug was a mistake. Mrs. Patrick Crowley
had had quite enough of shrugs for one evening. "I
see an empty chair," she said determinedly, "and I see
no reason why it wouldn't do me, as well as any other.
Over there at the edge of the dance floor. Don't
force me to point," she said sharply. "The table with
the three men at it. There are four chairs there/'
"But Madame ! You do not understand. That
whole table is reserved, entire. You do not know who
are those men. They are big men. I cannot ask
them for you to have that other place. Please, Ma-
dame !"
"A fig for your pleases I" Mrs. Crowley waved him
aside grandly. "If you won't ask them, then I will !
Move aside, man !"
182 HERSELF :
Born to obedience, the maitre d'hotel instinctively
stepped away. Mrs. Crowley sailed down the narrow
aisle between the tables, across the empty dance floor,
and stopped at the table she had chosen.
"If you gentlemen have no objections/' she said in a
tone that brooked no denial, "since according to the
flunky this is the only vacant chair in the house, I
believe Fll use it. Go right on with whatever you
were talking about," she commanded as she sat down
and placed on the table before her her moire evening
bag with the heavy silver top. "Fin no eaves-dropper.
You can speak your minds freely for all of me. Fm
much more interested in what's going on than in any
secrets you might have/' She smiled at them reas-
suringly.
Two of the men at the table smiled back, amusedly.
The third man had a gray, heavy, Buddha-like counte-
nance; his companions were lean-faced and brown.
He did not smile and merely inclined his head pon-
tifically ; but when Mrs. Crowley had difficulty in ar-
ranging her cape on the back of her chair it was he who
leaped to his feet, with surprising agility, and draped
it neatly for her.
"I am Saul Baron/' he introduced himself in a thick,
husky monotone, "and Mr. Towler, Mr. Liebert," he
nodded in the direction of the others.
"Mrs. Patrick Crowley ... of Millington," she
bowed to each of the men in turn, with the dignity of
an archduchess.
"We are honored, Mrs. Crowley/' Baron's head
nodded again, contemplatively.
Again she bowed in acknowledgment. "Dear me I"
she thought, "is this bowing and scraping going to go
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 183
on all night? 'After you, my dear Alphonse; you
first, my dear Gaston.' " But a waiter was holding a
menu and a wine card before her.
"Just a hot cup of tea," she told him over her shoul-
der casually. "But see that it isn't made with a tea
ball, and that the water is boiling. Milk to go with
it."
She could not see the waiter's amazed and perplexed
stare ; but Baron saw it. He stayed the waiter's un-
spoken protestations with a cold glance. "If Madame
wishes tea," he said throatily, "Madame wishes tea.
You understand, Anton. And what kind of tea is
your preference, Madame Crowley ?"
"Formosa Oolong or Oolong and Japan," Mrs.
Crowley said pleasantly. "Whatever they have, so
long as it's loose tea. Some people like Orange Pekoe,
and Maria always uses English Breakfast tea," she in-
cluded the table in her remarks, "but I never cared for
either of them. Maria is the friend who is visiting
New York with me," she smiled in explanation.
"Formosa Oolong tea or Oolong and Japan tea,
Anton. And as quickly as possible," Baron dismissed
the waiter.
"I hope I was putting the man to no trouble. I
realize well enough that people coming to places like
this only drink drinks ; but a cup of tea was what I
really wanted just now. But you don't need to stop
having whatever it is you are having because of me.
Indeed, I suppose if I were an older hand at the game
I should have ordered a round for you, barging in on
you like this. Don't be afraid to speak up if you'd
like another, What would you call those drinks
you're having ?" she asked interestedly.
184 HERSELF :
"Scotch and soda/' said Baron.
"Brandy and soda/' Larry Towler, "the King of
Swing/' tinkled the ice in his glass musically.
"Irish and soda/' the columnist, Liebert, raised his
glass high.
"The more power to you/' exclaimed Mrs. Crowley
to Liebert delightedly. "That's the one I think I'd
order. I'll give you 'Slainte' with my tea. I see him
coming with it/'
Three more unlikely candidates for the honor of
entertaining and being entertained by an old woman
he could not have chosen in his most cynical moment,
Liebert confessed to himself at the end of a half hour.
Yet, surprisingly enough, he had never had so much
fun in his life as in pointing out the great and near
great, and listening to Mrs. Crowley's keenly incisive
comments upon them. Baron, the imperturbable, had
risen to what was for him rare excitement in describ-
ing the high hopes he had for the new musical revue
he was producing; and Towler now was showing a
deference no woman had ever received from him, in
trying to make plain to the old lady the difference be-
tween swing and jazz music.
"But for the land's sakes, I sang that tune sixty years
ago/' he heard Mrs. Crowley protest to Towler, as the
dance band started to play for the first of the late eve-
ning shows. "Oh, dear, what can the matter be,
Johnnie's so long at the fair. That's a real old-timer
like myself. Imagine me coming to a night club to
hear it after all these years ! That used to be my song.
At a party or a wedding or any kind of a get-together
long ago, if I was called on to sing, that would be the
song I'd choose. Aggie Kelly's was The Pretty Maid
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 185
MiHcing Her Cow, and Charlie Foley he had a nice
tenor voice used to sing The Charming Young
Widow J Met on the Train. Just imagine a song like
that coming back/'
"Yes, that's right/' Towler smiled at her under-
standingly. Lord, reflected Liebert, half the women
in the place would give their right arm to get a smile
like that from America's Prince Charming. "But
watch how the tempo changes, Mrs. Crowley that
rhythm now. Hear it ? They're what we call 'swing-
ing' the tune now. Many older people don't like to
have ballads like that done in swing time, you know.
How does it affect you ?"
"Why, I like it ! It gives it a little more snap. Oh,
IVe seen that done before. Years ago when I used to
go to the dances in Carrolton Hall, St. Mary's orches-
tra used to play for the dancing. I knew the boys in
the band well ; and I know if it was a fast dance was
called, say the Tempest, they'd often take a slower
quadrille tune and speed it up in part to fit the
Tempest. And in the case of the Ripple that was
a round dance something like the York, they both
were three-steps a good band could step up a waltz
so you could dance the Ripple to it/'
"By Jove, Fritz," Towler addressed him suddenly,
"you know, I think I've got something there. Every-
body's swinging old ballads. I'll bet some of these
regular old-time dance tunes would swing even bet-
ter. I think they'd be a tremendous hit. I wonder
where we could get hold of the music they used to
play for this ... is it the Ripple, Mrs. Crowley, and
was that other one the York ?"
"That's right, the Ripple and the York, and the
186 HERSELF :
other, the square dance, was the Tempest. Sure, I can
get you the music for all of them. Aggie Kelly's
brother, Tom, was leader of the band when they broke
up. Aggie has all the band music up attic/'
"Would you, Mrs. Crowley ?" the orchestra leader
asked excitedly.
"Indeed, I would. I'd be tickled to death to do it
I'll write to Aggie in the morning. . . Oh, dear !" Mrs.
Crowley broke off suddenly, as her eyes strayed toward
the entrance door. Irmengarde and Gerald Murphy
were standing just before it, Gerald talking to the
maitre d'hotel, Irmengarde peering about the room,
scanning the tables impatiently. She knew that they
were looking for her.
She turned to Liebert "Wouldn't you know it ?"
she said disgustedly. "There's always someone to try
and take the joy out of life. That pair at the door.
A week back and I wouldn't know the two of them if
I fell over them ; and now since we are acquainted they
feel that they have to watch over me as if I were a
young bird in the nest. Is there any way I can skip
them ? I don't think they can see me from where
they are lean over this way and that will block their
view until I can think of something. Go home I won't
until I am good and ready ; but at the same time I
don't want a fuss. Oh, dear, help me out of this.
Think of something, man, quick ! That headwaiter
will give me away sure."
Liebert grinned delightedly. "Hmnh," he said, "I
see it all now. A Russian spy, eh ... trapped by
clear-eyed young America. Olga Michaelovna, I have
ye within my power."
"Oh, stop that !" said Mrs. Crowley pettishly, but
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 187
smiling in spite of herself. "This is no time for non-
sense. Get me out of this."
"Forswear my honor and my country's flag for a
beautiful face and a form divine ? A thousand times,
NO ! I mean, yes alas, we Lieberts were always the
prey of lovely women. That screen there hides the
door to the kitchens. Scoot !"
Mrs. Patrick Crowley scooted. Liebert at once sig-
nalled peremptorily to the maitre d'hoteL He left
Irmengarde and Gerald at once and came hurrying
over.
"Madame the Duchess of Eber, Eremon and Ir,"
said Liebert pointedly, "has left the club. Do you
understand ? And at no time has there been present
a Mrs. Patrick Crowley of Millington. At no time."
"Monsieur has spoken," said the maitre d'hdtd,
screwing his pudgy left cheek into a wink so enormous
that had he been facing the door Gerald, even in the
dim rose light, must have noticed it. "The word of
Monsieur shall be passed on."
Liebert watched him circle the dance floor and enter
into another prolonged conversation with Irmengarde
and Gerald. For a time it seemed that the two were
going to abandon further quest. Gerald appeared to
be proposing that he and Irmengarde stay on at the
Flitter-Flutter Club and dance. Lieberfs face drooped.
And from behind the screen Mrs. Crowley kept mak-
ing little cooing noises to attract his attention and ask
if the coast were clear. Irmengarde, however, very
evidently wished to continue the search elsewhere.
To Lieberf s great relief for he expected the impa-
tient Mrs. Crowley to bound out of hiding at any mo-
ment Murphy and Miss Hickey finally left the club.
i88 HERSELF :
"Come out, come out, wherever you are/* he called
out then. "Gentlemen !" he cried to Towler and
Baron who had been so deeply engrossed in their own
conversation that they had witnessed none of the by-play
and only knew that Mrs. Crowley had momentarily
left the table. "Gentlemen ! I give you Lady
Teazle I"
"Lud, Sir Joseph/' said the former leading woman
of the Mary Andersons, "111 have you knighted for
this. Whew !" said Mrs. Patrick Crowley seating her-
self again. "After that narrow escape there's just one
thing I want. I really feel the need of it. Can you
guess what it is ?" she grinned delightedly about the
table.
"An Irish and soda/' spoke up Liebert promptly.
"An Irish and soda, and no waste of soda/' she re-
peated. "I feel the need of it. Fve been through a
lot this day."
"You know, Saul/' Towler burst out, when the high-
balls had been served. "That idea Mrs. Crowley gave
me . . . about old-time dance tunes in swing tempo.
That would make a marvellous spot in the revue. The
band in old-time uniforms the chorus girls, in bustles
and bonnets, doing a swing version of one of those
square dances. You could . . . you certainly could
. . . have a swing ballet ! You know, something like
the Union Pacific ballet . . . only swing, swing right
through. Gosh, it would be a wow. And some singer
like Maxine Sullivan," he warmed to the idea excit-
edly, "to put over some of the old ballads in swing.
Oh, I can see it ! A smash, absolutely, a smash !"
Baron's ponderous head nodded slowly and appre-
ciatively. "Hmnh," he said approvingly. "Hmnh."
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 189
"I don't know what Sullivans this Maxine would be-
long to," Mrs. Crowley entered the conversation again.
"It isn't a Sullivan name . . . Maxine it sounds
more like French. But if I were you, I wouldn't have
one of these big-voiced, yelling articles singing the old
songs, not even with them pepped up. Not the sweet
songs. That singer that got up over there a while back
sounded like a cross between Maggie Kline and the
Borden Flat foghorn. Maggie Kline was all right in
her way the Irish Thrush they used to call her,
although I've no doubt she was German and she cer-
tainly was no thrush but you'd never pick on her to
sing anything but a rowdy song, the kind they'd sing
in the free-and-easys long ago.
"No," she said, "what Fd have would be a sweet
girl with a sweet voice. Oh, a powerful enough voice,
mind, one that would fill the theatre, but still sweet
You see, she'd get all the old sweetness into the songs
for all she did them the new way. She'd please the
old as well as the young/'
"Madame is right," Baron agreed heavily. "Very
right, very true. Can you find this singer, Larry ?"
"Hmnh, there's the heartache," Towler confessed.
"You can get them hot and you can get them sweet
but I never yet heard a sweet artist that could jive.
Swing jive," he interpreted to Mrs. Crowley.
"Since you've given these bloodsuckers the idea, and
are going to provide Towler here with the music," Lie-
bert drawled, "can't you dig up a singer for them, too,
Mrs. Crowley ?"
She passed over his irony. "Of course I can/' she
cried at once. "The very one. I know her well.
Bernadette O'Brien is just the girl for you."
I 9 o HERSELF :
"See ; just like that !" grinned Liebert, making a
magician's gesture of shoving up his cuffs.
"Can this girl sing?" Baron's question was cau-
tiously spoken.
"She's been studying at the Juilliard school and with
private teachers for years/' Mrs. Crowley nodded con-
firmingly.
"Can she sing swing ?" Towler's tone was even more
anxious than Baron's.
"She can/' remarked Mrs. Crowley placidly. "She
sang Loch Lomond both ways for me one night when
I asked her. And without a piano/' She settled that
matter.
"Is she good looking? That's very important,"
Liebert was enjoying himself hugely. He knew the
discomfiture of the others.
"As pretty as a picture/' Mrs. Crowley insisted. "I
tell you she's just the girl you want. You mustn't
doubt me/'
"Madame/ 7 Baron arose from his chair and drew
back his heavy white waistcoated paunch in a gallant
bow, "Madame, I couldn't doubt you. When can we
see and hear this girl ?"
"I was just thinking/' Mrs. Crowley reflected. "She's
calling for me Sunday morning. I know she'll be free
then for the rest of the day ; and she may be busy this
week. I know she is, she has examinations. How
about Sunday afternoon ?"
"At the Merrygold Theatre at two. We'll be wait-
ing." Baron agreed at once. "Come by the stage
entrance on Times Square. Larry and I will be there
promptly, and we'll wait as long as it takes you to
come/'
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 191
"Don't tell me that I have to wait until Sunday after-
noon, Mrs. Crowley," the newspaperman said teasingly,
"to see this prodigy. Can't I have a preview ? Think
of all the publicity she'll be looking for from me later
on. You might at least let me in on the Sunday morn-
ing date. Fm your pal/'
Mrs. Crowley looked at him shrewdly. She did like
him, she confessed, for all his world-worn cynicism.
She knew that all newspapermen were hardboiled, as
certainly as she knew that the French were a gay race,
fond of dancing and light wines. It would do no harm
to prick his cynicism. She lowered the lid of the eye
nearest to Baron very slightly ; she knew he was watch-
ing her.
With great amusement she answered Liebert, "If
you wish. Miss O'Brien is taking me to Mass at St.
Malachi's in the Actor's Chapel. It wouldn't do you
a bit of harm, I don't doubt, to see the inside of a
church now, would it ? Will you come with us ?"
"With all my heart/' Liebert answered at once.
"I'm not Catholic, but I'd like to go. You know the
three of us revered Father Duffy. I'll take you to his
statue Sunday, and then down to see his church. It's
just below Saint Malachi's."
"There was a great man, Mrs. Crowley," Baron said
simply. "Father Duffy. Olav hasholam." Liebert
and Towler suddenly raised their glasses to his and
drank a silent toast.
"You can't beat the Irish," Baron spoke again, sur-
prisingly, as he set down his glass.
"Not for friends," said Mrs. Patrick Crowley to them
tenderly ; and then, still more softly, "God bless you."
CHAPTER VIII
|RS. CROWLEY felt very sheepish re-
turning to St. Eulalia's the next morning.
She wished that she had had the fore-
thought to pack a street-length dress and
one of her bonnets in her dressing case.
She felt like a strayed reveller with no hat and the long
taffeta skirts billowing about her ankles. She fervently
prayed that she might enter the convent and reach her
room unobserved.
"I really am clothed and in my right mind/' she
meditated in the taxi down town, "but I could prove
the latter more easily to Maria and Mother Brigid if I
had thought to bring a proper day-dress along with me.
Small sense I had, not to think of that.
"Never mind/' she consoled herself, ''you had a good
time . . . you enjoyed yourself. They can't take that
away from you. What do you care what is said ?
After all, you're your own mistress . . . you're respon-
sible to no one for your actions. And if you can get
Bernadette O'Brien a singing job in that Broadway
show you've done a very good turn, indeed, Abbie
Crowley, one that could hardly be bettered. Hold
your head high and march right into the convent, and
let no one say you nay."
She was still very nettled that Irmengarde and Ger-
ald Murphy had gone looking for her as if she were a
wayward minor or a senile old crone ; but not as an-
noyed as she might have been. She had already de-
192
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 193
termined that Irmengarde was a better match for the
detective than Bernadette. With characteristic con-
trariness, Irmengarde's disdain of Gerald's eager little
courtesies had confirmed in Mrs. Crowley a resolution
that Gerald's suit must be successful. The very idea
of the girl playing fast and loose with the affections of
such a very nice young man ! She must be brought to
her senses ! She must marry Gerald, whether or no
or she, Mrs. Patrick Crowley, would know the reason
why. It was a distinct step forward, she thought glee-
fully, that Gerald and Irmengarde had made the rounds
of the night clubs together, even if their purpose in
doing so was to be frowned upon. She only hoped
that Gerald had taken advantage of the opportunity to
disarm the girl's antagonism to him.
Sor San Diego was the only one to view Mrs. Crow-
ley in her evening regalia ; and Little Sister, Mrs. Crow-
ley thought comfortably as she undressed in her room
and slipped into a kimono, would not be one to be
telling tales out of school. As a matter of fact, the
trailing skirts, and the pearl diadem and earrings, con-
firmed with positiveness Sor San Diego's belief that
Dona Patricio was a truly great Infanta of America.,
North.
She herself was the first to tell Maria of her esca-
pade, and Maria, fortunately, thought that it was a
great lark . . . something to shock the girls with when
they went back home. She could just see Mary Ellen
Shea's face, she chuckled, when Mary heard that Mrs.
Crowley had been to a night club, and all by herself.
She was very excited over the possibility of Bema-
dette's singing in a great Broadway revue ; and sur-
prisingly agreed with Mrs. Crowley that it was a great
i 9 4 HERSELF :
stroke of fortune to have Irmengarde and Gerald
brought together for an evening, so handily.
Mrs. Crowley counted it a great feather in her cap to
have Maria fall in so easily with her match-making
plans. She had been afraid that Irmengarde's influ-
ence with Maria was becoming stronger than her own ;
and that Maria might side against her. It was, of
course, true that Maria hoped for the success of Ger-
ald's wooing from motives quite different from her
own. Maria was thinking of the girl's happiness rather
than of the boy's. Mrs. Crowley was happy enough
to have Maria find the idea acceptable.
During the rest of Easter Week she set herself the
task of being very charming to Irmengarde, and at the
week's end was forced to confess to herself in all
honesty that there was really much to be said in the
girl's favor. She did, indeed, have very many attractive
points about her.
Mrs. Crowley was happy to notice, too, that since
the visit to the Flitter-Flutter Club Irmengarde no
longer treated Gerald with cool disdain as he raised
his hat to them on the daily expeditions upon which
she guided the older women about the city. Instead
she smiled very pleasantly ; and if they stopped to chat
with him, joined in the general conversation in a natu-
ral and friendly way.
By Saturday Gerald became so encouraged in his
suit that he asked the three of them if they would have
dinner with him that evening. Mrs. Crowley and
Mrs. Killoran both protested that sadly they had
other plans, and Mrs. Crowley vowed that she was be-
ginning to have a raging headache ; but their joint per-
suasions and Gerald's wistful eagerness made Irmen-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 195
garde finally accept the invitation for herself. Mrs.
Crowley was elated.
Irmengarde must have mentioned Mrs. Crowley's
headache for Reverend Mother Saint Brigid hurriedly
knocked at the door, at the beginning of evening Recre-
ation, to see if there was anything she might suggest
to relieve it. Mrs. Crowley had been afraid of that
very thing, and had already cautioned Maria not to
admit for a moment that the headache was feigned to
give Gerald a chance alone with Irmengarde.
"You'd never know how she'd take a fib like that.
You wouldn't know how it would look to a nun. One
time the Mary Anderson Dramatic Club was going to
give The Two Orphans. I had the part of Mother
Frochard. I was good at those parts, Maria. Just
give me a chance to act, and I could act all right
Well, anyway, we had almost got to the dress rehearsal,
when old Father Sullivan came in to watch us one
night, and when we came to the scene where the nun
tells a lie she doesn't really tell a lie but she lets a
bad girl take the place of the good girl who's being de-
ported, and a very saintly and sensible thing I thought
it was of her to do it, too well, Father Sullivan put
up a great fuss. You know how old-fashioned he was,
and how strict. Oh, he made a great to-do about it.
He made us give up the play. He said it was wrong
doctrine.
"And Mother Brigid might feel the same way about
my headache; so don't say too much about it. I
wouldn't cause her pain, to think that, maybe, I
wasn't as scrupulous as I should be/'
So to Mother Saint Brigid Mrs. Crowley skimmed
lightly over all references to her slight illness and the
196 HERSELF :
curtailing of the night's pleasure ; and plunged instead
into a happy account of the great success that was to be
Bernadette O'Brien's on the morrow, when her voice
and her beauty were certain to enthrall Saul Baron.
She had not hitherto told Reverend Mother Brigid
that she was sponsoring a Broadway career for Berna-
dette. Reverend Mother, she was afraid, might think
of the theatre, and of revues and musical shows in
particular, as among the snares and pomps of Satan.
"It is not a bit likely/' she warned herself, "that
they'd have any Mary Andersons or Margaret Anglins
in a place like Spain ; and she'd be a bit too young to
know what a good man, as well as a great actor, was
Barry Sullivan. He'd be well before her time in Ire-
land."
Now to Mrs. Crowley's surprise, as she rushed ahead
with her glowing dreams of Bernadette's great suc-
cess, she noticed that Reverend Mother was listening
eagerly, her face showing much more than ordinary in-
terest.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Crowley thought, "here I'm in for
it. She's drinking in everything I say ; and in another
minute she'll turn on me and give me the scolding of
my life. I might have known she wouldn't under-
stand."
But, "Dear me," said Mother Saint Brigid wistfully,
"I wish I could go with you. It's a worldly desire ;
but when we set sail from Spain to New York, and it
.seemed that it was going to be so hard to start life all
over again in a strange place, I thought to myself, fool-
ishly : now I'll have a chance to see Broadway. But,
of course, I've never yet gotten that far uptown, and
it's little likely I ever will. I'd have little to do, to go
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 197
roaming about the theatre district, a fish out of water/*
Both Mrs. Crowley and Mrs. Killoran stared at her.
She laughed at their bewilderment. "I was not born
in a convent, you know/' she said, "and when I left
the world, I did not leave a bogland cabin nor a moun-
tainy farm behind me. I was nearly thirty when I
joined the Order ; and for ten years before that I had
been out in the world earning my living.
"Now how do you think I earned it ?" she said teas-
ingly. "Did you think that I was a cook general or an
upper housemaid ? Or that I sold 'roipe Jaffa or'nges'
in the Coombe ? Not at all/' her eyes twinkled, "I
sang with the D'Oyley Carte company. . . Hebe in
Pinafore, Kate in The Pirates, Tessa in The Gondo-
liers, and Peep-Bo in Patience.
"Yes, and in Dublin I was in Little Johnny Jones
and in Forty-five Minutes from Broadway. That's
why I always wanted to see Broadway. Isn't there a
part of it they call Longacre Square ? I seem to re-
member that from one of the songs/*
Maria Killoran's blue eyes were wide with astonish-
ment ; Mrs. Patrick Crowley felt that at almost any
moment hers would pop from their sockets.
Reverend Mother Brigid went on, in tones of great
amusement, "And oddly enough, I know Mr. Baron.
He's from London, you know. He used to be our
call-boy. 'Little Solly' Baron. That was years ago,
when I first started ; because he was well on his way
up when I left the stage. The last time I saw Solly/'
she said reminiscently, "he came backstage when I
was playing in The Maid of the Mountains, and we
had quite a chat. Dear me ... how time does fly.
That was nearly thirty years ago."
198 HERSELF :
"Katisha and the Lady Jane, those were the parts I
used to take/' Mrs. Crowley finally broke her silence,
"but only with the Mary Andersons. I've always
wanted to meet a real stage actress. That's one of the
reasons I've been so anxious to go to St. Malachfs,
hoping to get a look at Ethel Barrymore or Margaret
Anglin or Grace George; but, of course, I'd never
dream of actually meeting them. And now, out of a
clear sky ... I"
"You meet one/' Reverend Mother's laughter rip-
pled out, "and she has turned into a sedate and
wrinkled old nun/'
"You must have been very pretty on the stage/' Mrs.
Killoran ventured with a shy smile.
" 'Vanity of vanity and all is vanity/ " said Mother
Brigid of Ireland. "None of your blarney, Mrs. Kil-
loran. The days when I looked in mirrors are over.
That's well behind me. I haven't even thought about
one for years. I left the stage happily, and my hap-
piness has grown year by year. It was just that, to-
night, I couldn't help reading your face, Mrs. Crowley.
You seemed so certain, toward the end of your story
about Miss O'Brien and Solly Baron, that I was going
to rise up in my wrath and denounce you as a pagan,
that I couldn't keep in. But for goodness' sake, don't,,
when you meet me in the hallway, greet me by war-
bling out, 'Good morrow, good mother ; good mother^
good morrow !' This is a state secret I have told you.
Mind you keep it. Sister Santa Cecilia for one,,
brought up in the strict seclusion of a noble Spanish
family, would never understand. It would be just an
added worry for her. She'd picture me as a former
flamenco or a gitana a gypsy dancing in caf 6s ! Per-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 199
isfa the thought ; for even on the stage I belonged to
the Third Order. Solly Baron knows that. He had
a boyish crash on me one time, and I used to find him
waiting for me outside the Brompton Oratory after
morning Mass, waiting to escort me to the theatre for
rehearsals/'
A little later, however, she looked at Mrs. Crowley in
consternation as she heard the older woman blandly
declare that she had told Bernadette nothing of the im-
pending appointment, merely that she wanted the
girl's company on a visit to the Actor's Chapel.
"I thought it would be just as well for her not to get
too excited," Mrs. Crowley answered Mother Saint
Brigid's expression of dismay, placidly. "I wasn't go-
ing to tell her until Mass was over and I had her on
the way to the theatre."
"Didn't you even tell her to bring her music ?"
Mother Brigid asked incredulously.
"I thought they'd have plenty of that at the theatre
that she could pick up and sing," Mrs. Crowley an-
swered. "With all her fine training a girl like that
could pick up any kind of song and sing it, surely.
Where are you going ?" she asked quickly, in surprise,
as Mother Saint Brigid rose and started for the door.
"Fm going to telephone Miss O'Brien. She must
not go unprepared. Mrs. Crowley, even when I was
fairly well known I used to practise and practise the
songs Td sing at an audition. We can't have this girl
thrust into such an ordeal so coldly. Why, the most
practised singer would go to pieces. . ."
"I thought it would be a nice surprise," faltered Mrs.
Crowley, "but I wasn't going to have her altogether
unprepared. You don't need to call her, for she's
200 HERSELF :
coming down tonight. She should be here anytime ;
and I asked her to bring some of the new songs with
her to sing for me. I thought that would be practice
enough/'
She wondered unhappily if Mother Saint Brigid
would realize that the appointment with Bernadette
made the sick headache no more nor less than a white
lie. But Reverend Mother was too aghast at the
thought of Bernadette's unpreparedness to sing under
Baron's severely critical eye to notice that Mrs. Crow-
ley was entangling herself in a web of contradictions.
"There's just one thing to do/ 7 the nun spoke
quickly, half to herself. "I can have the piano pushed
across the hall from the chapel to the large reception
room. I'll go over the songs with her, and coach her
as well as I can. Times haven't changed so very much,
I am sure." She flexed her fingers tentatively. "It's a
good thing I had the piano classes at the convent for
years and am a good sight reader. I can make out,
I'm sure.
"Well, Mrs. Crowley," she smiled then at the crest-
fallen old lady, "you do have a way of making dreams
come true. I'll see Broadway tomorrow ... for I'm
coming along with you. There's no reason not. Mother
General told me when we left Spain to adapt myself
freely to any of the changed and strange coniditions of
a strange land ; and if she, in her saintly innocence,
thought that the United States was half Red Indians
and half Puritan Protestants, and that we might be
forced to live in wigwam tents or wear blankets no
matter. She gave me authority under our rule
to govern myself and the convent as I would, so long
as it was for the greater glory of God and the spread
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 201
of our Holy Faith. She even told me, although it
nearly broke her heart for it is not in our rule and
the tradition of the community is against it that I
might be forced to send the nuns out begging for our
subsistence, for she could give me nothing but the few
pesos with which we started out.
"That I have not had to do yet, please God, but/'
she smiled wryly, "our treasury is by no means over-
flowing. And while I could never send Sor Santa
Cecilia out asking for alms, I don't mind that sort
of thing in the least. Tomorrow will be a splendid
chance to hold out my hand to probably the only old
friend I have in New York. I'll kill at least two birds
with one stone. Fll help Bernadette and the convent
at one and the same time/'
Fritz Liebert's urbanity effectively concealed any
surprise he may have felt in finding that Reverend
Mother Saint Brigid of Ireland, in her great blue outer
cape and cowled hood, was to be one of the party for
Mass at St. Malachi's, and the subsequent tour of
Broadway under his guidance. He was as gallantly def-
erential to Mother Brigid as he was to the sparkling-
eyed Bernadette when Mrs. Crowley introduced them
in the convent reception room. He requisitioned an-
other taxi at once for Mother Saint Brigid and Berna-
dette, pleasing Mrs. Crowley immensely by taking it
for granted that he was to be her escort.
Her keen eyes noted the involuntary ripple of as-
tonishment that passed from pew to pew as they
walked together down the broad centre aisle of the
chapel, Mother Saint Brigid and Bernadette close be-
hind them. The appearance of the chronicler of
202 HERSELF :
Broadway's night life at early morning Mass was evi-
dently no usual sight, Liebert, however, was as much
,at his ease as if he were a daily communicant, she saw
approvingly. As she chose a pew and genuflected, he
paid like reverence to the Blessed Sacrament; and
throughout the Mass kneeled and rose and sat with-
out hesitation, closely following her own movements.
When Mass was over, and they were moving slowly
along the thronged aisle, it seemed as though he were
called upon to bow and smile to almost everyone in
the congregation. She was prouder than ever of hav-
ing such a signally known escort, the more so because
he turned, again and again, after a bow of recognition
to tell her who the person was to whom he had spoken.
As they left the chapel she thought complacently that,
vicariously, she had met and been greeted by fifty peo-
ple, surely, with names to conjure with when once
again she should see Aggie Kelly and Connie Casey,
both of whom had great zest for the theatre.
Outside St. MalachFs, Liebert changed places with
Bernadette, making the switch seem the most natural
thing in the world, and the convoying of a nun an
very-day occurrence. Mother Brigid, too, was pleased
with his attentions ; and listened eagerly to his stories
of Father Duffy as they made their way across Seventh
Avenue to where the hero priest stood, statued in
bronze, before the Celtic cross of his race and creed,
looking out with proudly lifted head over the square
he loved.
The triangle before the statue was filled with dull-
faced, drooping hangers-on, men of the shadows of the
Street Called Bright. They stared with listless inso-
lence at the little group reading the inscription on the
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 203
statue's base. Mrs. Crowley was shudderingly aware
of their lifeless and hopeless eyes ; she felt Bemadette
press closer to her side.
For Mother Saint Brigid they did not exist at all.
In Madrid when the terror rose, their presence might
have caused her alarm ; this was sanely free America.
She lifted her eyes to the figure of the priest striding
bravely forward, his breviary in his hand ; and, wholly
unconscious of the busy street, dropped to her knees
and slowly made the sign of the cross. Liebert knelt
as she kneeled ; and Mrs. Crowley and Bemadette then
kneeled, too.
The bell of a street car clanged nervously in a traffic
jam, and there was the prolonged hooting of cab horns
rising above the ordinary roar of the square ; but
Mother Saint Brigid's quiet voice was clear and dis-
tinct, "Eternal rest grant him, O Lord ; let perpetual
light shine upon him. May his soul and all the souls
of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God,
rest in peace."
As Mrs. Patrick Crowley reached out her hand to
Bemadette for aid in rising, she was startled to see that
a smeared-faced urchin with a shoe shining kit had
been kneeling beside her. Mother Brigid's face showed
no surprise. She patted the boy's tousled black head
as she walked off, and smiled pleasantly at two tat-
tered men who fumbled with the brims of their hats
as she passed.
The Merrygold Theatre was close by Holy Cross
church, the church whose former shepherd had made
all Broadway his fold. Mrs. Crowley was glad that
Liebert was there to guide them into the theatre, for
backstage it was like the old Academy of Music at
204 HERSELF :
home, full of odd twistings and turnings, shadowy
even in the light of the naked swinging electric bulbs
that Liebert switched on as they passed through to the
wings of the great, bare stage.
Larry Towler was strumming unevenly at a battered
piano drawn close to the footlights, talking over his
shoulder to Baron, who sat in the blackness of the or-
chestra pit below. Liebert hailed him loudly. He
jumped up from his stool and came toward them at
once.
The stage was dimly lighted, but Mrs. Crowley
nodded to herself with pleased satisfaction as she saw
him reach out both hands to Bernadette. Her ap-
pearance evidently attracted him ; the first point was
gained ; and Mrs. Crowley had no qualms about the
quality and the effectiveness of Bemadette's voice.
She had sat enraptured in a corner the night before
as Mother Saint Brigid, tirelessly, went over and over
with Bernadette the songs she would sing, stressing a
phrase here, insisting on a fuller tone there ; and then
letting the girl sing freely in bursts of melody that
echoed and re-echoed in the small bare room.
Nuns, however, were stranger creatures to the mu-
sician than to the newspaperman. He bowed vaguely
and with a slightly startled air to where Mother Brigid,
wrapped in her voluminous cape and great cowled
hood, stood back in the shadows. Baron called out
heavy indistinct words of greeting from his seat, and
Mrs. Crowley answered him brightly.
Towler drew Bernadette over to the piano excitedly.
He could not wait to hear her sing. His slender nerv-
ous fingers tugged at the clasp of her music case, and
drew her songs forth. He made inarticulate sounds of
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 205
satisfaction as he spread them out on the piano rack
and read their titles.
"Play for yourself . . . own accompaniments . . .
or want me to try ?" he asked quickly, jerkily. Ber-
nadette turned her head to find Mother Saint Brigid.
The nun sailed serenely forward, and, twisting the
stool to her comfort, unlatched her cape as she sat
down, and handed it backward for someone to hold.
Liebert sprang down stage eagerly to take it from her.
"Girl's appearance what you said, Madame. Now
for her singing/' Baron breathed huskily up to Mrs.
Crowley from the blackness of the pit. "Who's that
playing . . . her nurse ?"
Mrs. Crowley drew herself up primly to make aa
affronted answer ; but she saw the white linen shoulder
cape of Mother Brigid's habit ripple, and she knew
that the nun was enjoying her incognito hugely.
Mother Brigid's strong, white hands plunged sud-
denly down on a chord. Her silver ring sparkled, as
her fingers moved swiftly into a rippling melody that
she stopped quickly with another sudden chord. In
the silence, then, Mrs. Crowley could see Baron's heavy
form moving in its chair uneasily, and hear his voice
grunting perplexedly. The little tune seemed to hold
kinship for him. She chuckled to herself delightedly.
This was going to be as good as a play.
In a few moments, Bernadette began the first of her
songs. It was the Oh, dear, what can the matter be
that Mrs. Crowley had heard, modernized, at the
Flitter-Flutter Club; but Bernadette's sweet high
voice held a wistful plaintiveness that brought all the
old charm of the song into its new setting.
"Now, that's the way that song should be sung I"
206 HERSELF :
Mrs. Crowley spoke her mind emphatically as Ber-
nadette finished. "Wasn't I right, Mr. Baron ? Now,
wasn't I ?" she called out exultantly.
"Hmnh mm," breathed Baron, but not too non-
committally. There was evident agreement in his
voice. "Try another, Miss. Hmnh mm/ 7
The second song was Mrs. Crowley's own choice, an
old song like the first, but unchanged save for a few
slight variations in the tempo that Mother Brigid and
Bernadette had improvised the evening before. Mrs.
Crowley had taught the song to Bernadette. Mother
Brigid, who knew the air in another form, had been
able to build an effective accompaniment.
Bernadette had sung but the opening phrases before
Larry Towler had leaped to his feet, his hands waving
behind the singer, conducting a silent swing arrange-
ment. The great possibilities of the song had become
instantly alive to him. Again Mrs. Patrick Crowley
nodded beamingly in complete satisfaction as the girl's
voice rang out, sweet and loud and clear,
"Do not trust him, gentle lady,
Though his voice be low and sweet ;
Heed not him who kneels before you,
Gently pleading at your feet.
Now thy life is in its morning,
Cloud not this thy happy lot ;
Listen to the gypsy's warning :
Gentle lady, trust him not.
Lady once there lived a maiden,
Pure and bright, and like thee, fair.
But he wooed, he wooed and won her
Filled her gentle heart with care. . .*
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 207
As the song died away, Towler rushed forward and
seized Bernadette's hands again. "That last song's a
natural/ 7 he cried. "I can't wait to get hold of a copy
of it to make a swing arrangement. Is there a copy
here ? Have you the piano copy, ma'am ?" he turned'
swiftly to Mother Saint Brigid.
"Here, here, hold on I" Liebert interposed. "Never
mind the song ! What about the singer ? Must you
and Baron go off in a huddle after we're gone, and send!
us a telegram saying that you were crazy about Miss
O'Brien's voice ? What about a few approving words-
now while we're all here to enjoy them ?"
"But she's hired !" said Towler, running his hand
through his hair excitedly. "Of course, she's hired.
Saul will give her a contract in the morning. You're
not tied up, are you ?" he asked anxiously. "We've
got to have you, that's all there is to it. Am I right,
Saul ?" he called out.
"We'll talk business/' said Baron lumbering out of
his chair, and making his way in the dark to the short
flight of steps leading from the pit to the stage. "I'm
ready to talk business."
But when the producer, panting heavily from his un-
usual exertion, plodded across the stage, he passed by
Bernadette and the excited Towler, who held her arm
in a vise lest she take fright and run away ; and walked
heavily over to where Mother Saint Brigid was drawing
her great cowl over her coifed headdress.
"Madame," he said without preliminaries, "where
did you get that tune you played? Not the songs.
What you played on the piano to limber up ? How
come you played that particular tune ?" He was very-
excited ; it showed through his extraordinary phlegma-
208 HERSELF :
tism ; in an odd quivering of his body and of the huge
puffed hands he held out before him.
"Madame/' he cried again, ' Vho are you ? How
do you know my tune ? Nobody knows that tune.
Since I wrote it no one has known it. Madame, you
you can't be . . . ? Who are you, Madame ?"
"Just an old nun, Solly, now ... no matter who I
was. An old nun who has remembered you time and
again in her prayers for the nice, good boy you were.
Don't look at me so shockedly ... of course Fm
changed ... so are you/' Mother St. Brigid said
spiritedly to relieve the tension. "Yes, Solly, with you
as with me . . . remember ?" Softly she intoned :
"Stouter than I used to be,
Still more corpulent grow I
There will be too much of me
In the coming by and by I"
She turned merrily to the others as Baron, fighting to
regain his composure, stood shaking his head from side
to side, helplessly, and ringing his pudgy hands.
"Pray don't misconstrue what I say /' she sang lightly,
"Remember, pray remember, pray,
He was a little boy I"
Liebert was smiling quizzically, Towler's mouth
hung open, and Bernadette was beginning to look
distressed. Mrs. Patrick Crowley thought it was high
time for her to take part in the game, for game she
sensed it was, an old game that the young kindly prima
donna and the twelve-year-old call-boy had once played
together.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 209
Her high old voice was lifted up suddenly :
"Now is not this ridiculous and is not this preposterous ?
A thorough-paced absurdity explain it if you can."
she sang, with a richly gay cock of her head at Mother
Saint Brigid. Mother Brigid bit her lower lip in a
moment's concentration, and prepared to give as pat
a singing answer ; but Baron suddenly began to mumble
huskily, and it was he who responded in a wheezing
bass,
"The flowers that bloom in the spring, Tra la,
Breathe promise of merry sunshine
As we merrily dance and we sing, Tra la,
We welcome the hope that they bring, Tra la,
Of a summer of roses and wine.
And that's what we mean when we say that a thing
Is welcome as flowers that bloom in the spring."
He broke off suddenly, still shaking his great head,
"I don't even know what I should call you now . . .
but like the flowers in spring is how welcome you are,
just to see you. My, my, how good you were to me
when I was such a skinny poor boy. . "
"You can call her either Sister Superior or Mother
Saint Brigid," it was Mrs. Patrick Crowley speaking,
smartly. She was afraid that Baron's emotion might
upset the nun. She could see that while Mother Brigid
was touched to be so well remembered, she was now
slightly embarrassed by the presence of Towler and
Liebert.
Baron sensed the same thing. He turned to the two
men. "She was a big star when I used to hang around
210 HERSELF :
the stage door, hoping that some of the chorus girls
would send me for a sandwich and I'd earn a penny.
Half starved I was every day, and in the winter I didn't
have no jacket even. One day she noticed me in the
alley and she gave me the money to go get me a coat ;
and after that, every day ? she had the doorman find
some errand for me to do, so that I would have money
to eat and sleep. And when the call-boy quit, she got
me his job. That's how I started. Everything, every-
thing I owe to her. She was a Catholic ... I was a
little Jew boy. It didn't matter. The High Holidays
she'd see I could put some other fellow in my place,
and if he didn't show up on time like sometimes it
happened she would make up early, and go around to
the dressing rooms herself, and give the calls. When
I met Father Duffy, after he come back from the War
and had his parish here in Broadway, I told him he
could ask me anything. Anything I could do for him
... I would, I told him, on account I owed so much
to a great saint of a Catholic."
"Stop it, Solly," said Mother Saint Brigid. "Now
you're talking nonsense. If I was good to you, you
deserved it. You were a good boy. I've told Mrs.
Crowley how you used to wait for me after morning
Mass because the streets I had to pass through to reach
the theatre were in a rough neighborhood."
"Madame Crowley," said Baron, turning to her, "is
it at the convent you were telling us of the other night
that my old friend is ? Was it you those Bolsheviks
were bothering?" he said to Mother Brigid fiercely.
"I won't have it. I have influence."
"That's all cleared away, thanks to Mrs. Crowley,"
said the nun soothingly. "Don't be distressed on my
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 211
account. The Lord's way is often the hard way, Solly,
you see ; but we who follow Him like it so."
"If you need anything, anything at all ? Do you
need money for your work?" his small eyes scruti-
nized her sharply.
Mother Saint Brigid's shoulders moved ever so
slightly. She found that she could not beg after all
. . . from strangers, perhaps ; but not from an old
friend. Mrs. Patrick Crowley had no such qualms.
"She needs a mint of money," she said drily, "and
any small contributions will be thankfully received. I
will not 'hush,' Mother. Sure, she needs money. The
sisters are as poor as church mice, Mr. Baron, and if
you don't know, church mice are the poorest of their
kind."
"Thank you, Madame Crowley," Baron bowed to
her gravely, and then turning to Mother Saint Brigid
of Ireland spoke with earnest reassurance. "Old friend,
from this time on I am your banker ... to be called
on freely. I have too much money . . . and no chil-
dren, no family . . . nobody. What good is my
money ? Yesterday ... no good. Today . . . very
good. I have somebody to take care of, to share it
with."
Mother Brigid bowed her head. Her firm white fin-
gers moved along the beads of her long rosary. "Thank
you, Solly." She said simply, "You still are a good
boy. The nuns and I will pray always that you remain
so. That will be our prayer for your success."
"And now," cried Baron suddenly, almost vivacious,
beaming and clapping his heavy hands together, "now,
we will be sure to make lots of money on the revue,
eh, Larry ? For the nuns, eh, Larry ? A singer we have
212 HERSELF
like just what we wanted/' he smiled at Bernadette,
"and prayers to put us over/'
"Don't forget another credit. 'Music by Mrs. Pat-
rick Crowley/ " Liebert reminded him with a grin.
"And let it be the kind of show I could lend my
name to/' commented that lady tartly. "No funny
business, mind." .
"Madame Crowley/' Baron began in hurt tones, but
Mother Saint Brigid laid her hand upon his arm.
"Solly/' she said softly, "I have not heard of you
often. We get little news of the theatre in a convent,
you know. But what I have heard has always pleased
me. You have kept faith always with me, and the
cleanly idealistic boy I used to know."
"Now will you be good !" Liebert scolded Mrs.
Crowley, With a grin he began in a light tenor,
"Go away, madam ;
I should say, madam,
You display, madam,
Shocking taste. . ."
"You limb !" she shook her head at him, and then
as the thought struck her, her own high voice rang out,
"My object all sublime
I will achieve in time
To make the punishment fit the crime,
The punishment fit the crime."
"Until I think what that punishment will be," she
chuckled at him, "you'll be let off lightly by taking us
all out to tea."
"Irish and " he said teasingly.
"TEA ! said I," she withered him with a glance.
CHAPTER IX
ROM then on, the days at Santa Eula-
lia's convent were filled with movement.
More than once Mrs. Patrick Crowley
declared to goodness and to all within
hearing range that truly she did not
know whether she was coming or going, or on her head
or her heels.
Baron's generosity proved unbounded, particularly
on the South ; for he not only sent Mother Saint
Brigid a cheque large enough to cover all possible ex-
penses of the convent for several years ; but, under the
vague impression that Spain was closely akin to tropi-
cal America, deluged the convent with every conceiva-
ble thing he could find of Argentinean, Brazilian or
Chilean origin, that the nuns might feel at home. Day
after day, hampers and baskets and boxes arrived, filled
with exotic fruits and strange tinned delicacies of all
kinds that had happened to catch his eye and his fancy
in shop windows he passed, and that, he thought, might
be of use to a group of cloistered women.
"Dear, dear, this has got to stop," Mother Saint
Brigid said helplessly, the morning she came down-
stairs to find the lower hallway piled high with boxes
packed with shiny tins of pate de foie gras and gray
jars of caviar. "Poor Solly has the wildest ideas, evi-
dently, of a convent refectory. Youll have to speak
to him, Mrs. Crowley. So far, he seems to have sent
us everything but a llama of Peru, and whatever they
call those Argentine cowboys."
213
214 HERSELF :
"Tangos/* asserted Mrs. Crowley helpfully. "I de-
clare, it's as good as geography just to look over some
of these things. I suppose there are people who eat
the likes of this/' she sniffed happily at the jar of caviar
she was holding, "but if there are, I wouldn't know
them ; they never went to Sunday school with me.
All this stuff will look nice on the pantry shelves any-
way, Mother. Nothing looks so well as to have your
shelves filled ; and you might run into some poor Rus-
sian or Ethiopian family some time that would eat the
likes of this, and not mind it. They'd be used to it,
where a Christian wouldn't. Let the man have his
fling/' she said encouragingly. "He can afford to, and
Fll bet he's getting a great kick out of it. Besides,
there can't be that much more strange food in the
world for him to be finding. It'll have to give out
pretty soon. I wouldn't say anything to him for the
world, that might hurt his feelings. And just reading
the names on these things is a liberal education/'
Mrs. Patrick Crowley saw Baron every day, for she
had constituted herself not only chaperon to Berna-
dette, but musical adviser to Towler, and general critic
and censor of the new revue. The revue was close to
actual production, save for the new and elaborate
Swing Out the Old number in which Bernadette
and Towler and his orchestra were featured ; and for
that, rehearsals were going forward day and night.
The morning after her night club experience Mrs.
Crowley had telephoned Aggie Kelly, and asked her to
send on the dance music stored in her attic. Aggie,
however, had become so excited and confused at hear-
ing Mrs. Crowley's voice that she could not remember
later just what music it was that was especially wanted.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 215
On Mary Shea's advice, she packed all the music she
found in the attic ; and two trunks full of a most het-
erogeneous assortment greeted Towler a few days later
at the theatre. Mrs. Crowley, summoned uptown by
a frantic telephone call, found the orchestra leader
knee deep in dogeared copies of St. Basil's Hymnal,
frayed scores of masses by Farmer and Marzo, piano
copies of The Midnight Fire Alarm and The Fafiy
Wedding and Tlie BlacJdiawJ: waltzes that Aggie had
dutifully strummed as a child, when she first started
'taking' from the nuns ; and piles upon piles of popular
songs of the 'By the moon in June 111 spoon with you'
variety, dating back to the turn of the century. It was
long before even Mrs. Crowley could find what she
wanted ; but find it she did ; and Towler, after running
over a few of the dance melodies hastily on the stage
piano, was delighted with them and set at once to
their swing re-scoring.
Both he and Baron deferred to her a great deal in
the staging of the number. She had rarely enjoyed
herself as much as she did during the rehearsals, which
she watched with an eagle eye and a ready tongue
from a stage box. "The Royal Box," or "Her Majes-
ty's Box," the chorus people soon called it. She liked
that, when Bernadette repeated it to her ; but she
would have been far from pleased if she had known
that she, herself, was referred to, with like affectionate
disrespect, as "The Old Vic."
Swing Out the Old was her own title for the num-
ber, and her suggestions had been followed for the
songs that Bernadette and the chorus should sing :
The Gypsy's Warning, Wait for the Wagon and Cap-
tain Jinks of the Horse Marines. Her years of training
216 HERSELF :
with the Mary Anderson Dramatic Club, most famous
of all Millington amateur groups, past or present, had
given her a lively sense of what Towler called "thea-
tre" ; and, unlike almost everyone even remotely con-
nected with him in the past, she stood in no awe of
Baron. In her own phrase, she was "not a bit back-
ward about coming forward," whenever she noticed
anything at rehearsals that did not please her. She
spoke her mind in authoritative trumpet calls from the
Royal Box, whether one of the many assistant stage
managers or Baron, himself, were the offender.
She could not bring herself, however, to h^ed
Mother Saint Brigid's insistent pleas, each morning,
that she approach Baron tactfully and ask him to curb
his generosity. She was not in the least afraid of
wounding him in his professional pride, as the mem-
bers of the orchestra and chorus noted to each other
daily, grinning or giggling over her latest effectual con-
tradiction of his directorial orders ; but she felt that
his wish to be truly generous should not be impugned.
Fortunately for Mother Brigid's peace of mind, how-
ever, Baron's charitable fancy suddenly turned from
kumquats and mangoes, avocado pears and pomegran-
ates, to great pots of flowering shrubs, and American
Beauty roses by the triple dozen. He had no idea, of
course, that he was poaching upon Mrs. Patrick Crow-
ley's inviolable preserves ; but she was irate at once to
think that anyone but herself and her adoring follower,
Sammy Klotz, should have any hand in the floral dec-
oration of St. Eulalia's chapel and convent. From the
time of her arrival at the convent that had been her
especial charge, and a labor of great love.
Mother Saint Brigid received the first consignment
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 217
of azaleas and long-stemmed roses at a time, fortu-
nately, when Mrs. Crowley was at the theatre. She
fully realized the older woman's sensitiveness, and her
pride in the daily floral tribute that she offered to the
Blessed Sacrament ; so the azaleas were laboriously
lugged upstairs to the nuns' quarters, and disposed
about their own private shrines of Santa Eulalia and
of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception. She and
Sor San Diego de Alcala, then, hurried up to St. Leo's
Church with the boxes of roses, that the nuns of Maria
Reparatrix might make their altar lovely, and Mrs.
Crowley be kept in ignorance of Baron's rash, if well
meaning, gesture.
Unfortunately, however, Mother Brigid was away
on a shopping tour with Mrs. Killoran when the sec-
ond consignment of flowers arrived ; and although Sor
San Diego succeeded in convincing Sor San Juan de
Toledo, who had been left in charge, that the flowers
must not be put in the chapel, they were still arguing
gently where they should go when Mrs. Patrick
Crowley arrived home unexpectedly.
She took matters at once into her own hands ; and
again the Sisters of the Reparation of Mary were the
gainers, for she sent for Sam to bring his truck and
take the flowers to them ... at once / It was the
second time Sor San Diego had been bound to secrecy
concerning convent gifts to St. Leo's, but to be the
sharer of a secret was the greatest delight of her inno-
cently childlike heart. Not a word of what she was
beginning to regard as a customary, if strange, proce-
dure crossed her lips either to Mrs. Crowley then, or
to Mother Saint Brigid later, when she and Maria re-
turned, happily laden with packages of pillows, bob-
218 HERSELF :
bins, and fine thread for Sor Santa Maria a Campo,
oils and brushes for Sor Juan de Toledo, serge and
linen for new habits, and whisper it not in Gath nor
tell it in the streets of Ascalon no less than six bot-
tles of fine sherry to tempt the appetite of frail Sor
Santa Cecilia.
As soon as the flowers had been safely dispatched,
Mrs. Crowley crossed the street to Sam's shop, and
put through telephone call after call in an effort to
reach Baron. Becky Klotz, knitting comfortably be-
hind the counter, cluck-clucked admiringly at Mrs.
Crowley's unwearying persistence, which tracked
Baron from the theatre to his offices, from his offices
to his apartment, and from his club to the steam baths
that he frequented when he was most physically worn
and fatigued.
The telephone interview was short. Baron was very
distressed that he had given Mother Saint Brigid even
the slightest concern ; and to have offended the re-
doubtable old lady who seemed, to his great secret hap-
piness, to have adopted him as a rather wayward, but
promising nephew, bothered him still more. His heavy
voice came through the earphone in profuse apologies
for several minutes ; then stopped with a suddenness
that Mrs. Crowley was content to believe was an un-
avoidable break in the line. She was satisfied with the
conversation, and did not bother to call back for the
sake of a formal "goodbye" ! Nor did Baron, who,
summoned hastily from the steam-room, suddenly real-
ized that he was standing talking to the very proper
Madame Crowley completely unclothed. It was that
startling realization that made him drop the hand tel-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 219
ephone the attendant had brought him to the floor ;
and retreat feverish with shame to the showers.
Mrs. Crowley saw little of either Irmengarde or of
Gerald Murphy during the period she was busy with
the rehearsals of the revue. She saw little of Maria
Killoran, either, save late at night or in the morning ;
but Maria was very content to act as Mother Saint
Brigid's friendly guide on her shopping tours and to
visit a few distant relatives of her John, in the Bronx
and in Brooklyn, places she would never dare suggest
for an outing to her friend, Abbie, who scorned, on a
New York trip, anything so mild and unexciting as
'paying calls/
Gerald had been promoted to a supervisory post in
the Commissioner's office at Police Headquarters, but
he still dropped by at the convent ; at first, ostensibly,
to inquire for Mrs. Crowley. Now, however, Maria
told her, he did not beat about the bush at all, but
asked for Irmengarde at once by name ; and Irmen-
garde had changed her orders to Sor San Diego. She
was now always "at home" to Gerald. Twice they had
gone to the motion pictures together; one Sunday
afternoon they had taken her along with them to the
symphony concert in Carnegie Hall ; and one after-
noon he had brought his mother to the convent. "A
very pleasant woman/' reported Maria, "and you could
see that she was quite taken with Irmengarde and Ir-
mengarde with her, too. It won't be long, now," Mrs.
Killoran assured Mrs. Crowley. "She's already started
hemming dish towels, no less ; and that's a sure sign."
Til bet she uses a darning needle," said Mrs. Crow-
ley, who was not quite certain whether she was alto-
220 HERSELF :
gether pleased that the romance was progressing so
ably without her help, "and 111 bet, too, she brings
it to you to thread/' she added disparagingly.
On the whole, however, Mrs. Crowley decided, she
was pleased enough to let the romance of Irmengarde
and Gerald Murphy run its course under the gentler
guidance of Maria Killoran. Anything that she came
to regard as a fait accompli no longer held her interest ;
if Irmengarde had truly progressed to the dishcloth
hemming stage, then Mrs. Crowley gladly washed her
hands of the whole affair. Maria, she felt, could han-
dle matters nicely from that point. She, certainly,
was not going to sit home evenings, in the convent,
teaching the girl to back-stitch and to hem-stitch, top
sewing and overcasting, or the fine art of making but-
ton holes ; not she ... not with the light of Broad-
way shining brightly in her eyes.
Moreover, she had had a growing suspicion for sev-
eral days that Fritz Liebert's continual presence at
rehearsals was not so much due to his close friendship
with Baron and Towler, nor to her own charm, but to
a growing interest in Bernadette O'Brien. She had
little upon which to base her suspicions : Liebert was
always very casual in any mention of Bernadette to her,
or to Baron or Towler, and when he spoke to Berna-
dette he kept the conversation very impersonal ; but
Mrs. Crowley had had years of experience watching
.embryo love affairs develop and ripen. She worked
best without palpable clues. It was enough for her to
scent the air in which romance was ; no matter how
faint the odor, she prided herself that she never mis-
took it. Little more than an aura was present yet, but
it was enough for her keen nostrils. She settled her-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 221
self down interestedly in her box each day, not only to
inspect with the keen eyes of a critic the progress
of the revue, but to watch even more closely for the
least word or movement on Liebert's part that might
confirm her suspicion that he was falling in love with
Bernadette O'Brien.
Liebert, however, was a wary and a wily antagonist.
When she finally despaired of catching him in any
overt word or act, she set herself the pleasant task of
drawing him on in conversation about Bernadette ;
but even then, the rapier of her quick intelligence
could not pass his guard. She was far from being dis-
couraged, however ; she delighted in an opponent who*
was on his mettle, and could match his wits with hers.
It gave zest to the fencing, even although she knew
very well that in the end the victory would be hers.
Once she had set her mind to ferreting out a secret,.
no diplomat could be more cunningly suave in con-
cealing the hand that was boring within ; once the full
measure of the arts of Mrs. Patrick Crowley had been
called into play, the Sphinx, itself, must have divulged
the answer to its riddle freely. And Liebert was but
mortal man. She was quite content to wait and bide
her time.
In the meantime, she was in constant conference
with Baron and Towler ; with Kay Ney, the ballet mis-
tress and dance director; with Bill Plante, the stage
designer, who had flown from Hollywood especially to
design the set and costumes for the new number ; with
the master electrician, the mistress of wardrobes, the
chief of properties ; and with Tim Sullivan, the clever
young newspaperman who was handling Baron's pub-
licity.
222 HERSELF :
To the other people in the revue, principals or chor-
isters, she paid no attention. When their scenes went
into rehearsal she left the theatre, or sat back com-
fortably chatting with Miss Ney or Bernadette, waiting
until the stage was again cleared and the call had gone
forth for those taking part in Swing Out the Old.
From her vivid and detailed descriptions of the Car-
rolton Hall in which she had danced as a young
woman, Plante had designed a set that held all the
elegantly stilted charm of the American 'eighties,
blended suavely with a buoyancy suitable to Towler's
new arrangements of the old tunes. He took great
delight in bringing her his costume sketches, and
swatches of the materials he planned to use. She com-
mented upon them eagerly ; and described in turn to
him one after another of the gowns she had worn at
the anniversary dance of the Father Mathew Society,
the Millington Charity Ball for the Orphans' Home,
or at the elegant soirees of the Friendly Sons of St. Pat-
rick and the Catholic Club. She watched him take
hasty, pencilled notes as she talked ; but not until he
had submitted his completed sketches to Baron did
she realize that half of the members of the ballet and
chorus were to wear replicas of former dresses of her
own.
The ballet mistress, a pleasant laughing young
woman, became her instant friend. Mrs. Crowley but
lifted her skirts and glided into the step of the Ripple,
when Miss Ney, watching her feet closely, began to
copy her exactly. Mrs. Crowley had started the lesson
by pacing the steps slowly and methodically ; in a few
moments, she held out her hands to the dancer, they
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 223
joined forces ; and swept around and around the stage
to quick and merry applause.
"Whoosh I" said Mrs. Crowley, trying to catch her
breath when the whirl of the dance was over. "Forty
years younger, and I'd ask for a place in your chorus,
Mr. Baron ; but my wind is gone now."
"Too many cigarettes ?" asked Liebert with mock
solicitude. He delighted in teasing her.
"Too many long-winded prayers for sinners like
you !" she answered him.
Miss Ney was quick, too, to learn the figures of the
Tempest ; and it was amazing to Mrs. Crowley to see
how her choreographic skill could exaggerate the move-
ments of the dance to the quickened phrasing of Tow-
ler's music, and still keep its old-fashioned flavor.
"It is and it isn't, if you know what I mean ; and
Fm not sure I do, myself/' she told Maria one night ;
but even Mrs. Killoran who followed her friend Ab-
bie's involved thought processes rather shrewdly had to
acknowledge that it would be as well for her to wait
and have visual evidence at the show's opening of what
Mrs. Crowley was trying to explain.
The backstage life of the theatre entranced Mrs.
Crowley. She revelled in the camaraderie of everyone
concerned in the production of the revue. She won-
dered many times to herself whether she had not missed
her true vocation, whether or not if she had given
her life to it she might not have been a great ac-
tress.
"I had the chance, but I never took advantage of it,"
she told Kay Ney one afternoon. "If I do say it my-
self, I could act rings around anybody else in the Mary
224 HERSELF :
Andersons in my day ; and people knew it. Just so
long as there was a part that had good acting in it, I
could more than make them sit up and take notice.
But the part had to be right ; I could never act any-
thing that was at all wishy-washy. It had to be some-
thing I could get my teeth in, that would give me a
chance to act all over the stage. If I had that kind of
a part you couldn't hold me down/'
"111 bet I" Liebert joined them with the usual teas-
ing look in his eyes ; but she turned her back on him
flatly.
"Yes/' she continued, "although I played Juliet one
year, I wouldn't say I was ever good at it, except when
she takes the poison. I put that over very well. But
in a part like Lady Macbeth, I was very good ... or
in a part that called for a mad scene. I could take off
mad people to a TT ; although Ophelia was a little too
subdued for my style.
"But as I was saying, Thomas E. Shea, the great
tragedian, who was related to some of our own Sheas
back home, came to the Academy one time, and
needed an extra player. One of the actresses with him
ate something that disagreed with her, fell sick of the
cholery morbus, and couldn't play-act at all. So he
sent for me to go on in her place. He had heard about
me, do you see ? But, the worst of it was, there was
a mission on at our church at the time ; and, of course,
I couldn't miss it so I had to say 'No' to Thomas E.
Shea. I've often spoken of it to Reverend Mother
Theresa at the convent at home ; and there's always
been a question in both our minds as to whether I did
right or no. You see, if I was working I wouldn't be
expected to give up my work to make the mission.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 225
No mission Father would ask that. But in this case,
it was only that I was offered work ; and the question
would be whether acting, for one like me who had a
gift for it, would be work or play. It was never any
work for me to learn a part, and get up and act it. It
was child's play and I had to take that into consid-
eration. Well, anyway, I didn't take Thomas E. Shea's
offer ; but who is to know I might not have made out
very well ?"
However, she was not so lost in her dreams of the
theatrical career she might have had, nor absorbed in
the production of the revue not to notice, as the days
went by, that Mother Saint Brigid and the other nuns
at St. Eulalia's were again displaying signs of nervous
fear. If she returned from the theatre after dark, she
found the convent door bolted and barred as it had
been earlier, and Sor San Diego very timorous about
lifting off the chain until she had certain knowledge
that it was truly Mrs. Crowley calling out to her
sometimes, it must be confessed, a little impatiently.
Mrs. Patrick was not the kind of woman who enjoyed
being kept standing on doorsteps.
"I do declare/' she said crossly to Maria one evening,
"I don't know what on earth's come over Little Sister.
She's been so scary and fidgety lately that she's getting
on my nerves. Not a night that I come home, but I
have to sing out after I've rung the bell and tell her
who it is. And at that it takes her so long to open the
door, you'd think she didn't believe it was surely me.
Why, tonight, I had to call out to her in Spanish be-
fore she would take off the chain/*
"And where did you ever learn Spanish ?" asked
Maria with amusement.
226 HERSELF :
"Oh, I just picked it up from the Sisters, hearing
them talk. I told you when we first came that I had
got so I could understand Little Sister very well.
'Openez/ I said to her. 4 Si, si, Dona Patrisho. Ho-
kay. Openez up/ But I do wish when I come home
all tired and worn out, that I didn't have to stand on
the doorstep yelling Spanish before I am allowed in.
It just makes me more tired than ever to have to think
up the Spanish to say to her.
"And moreover I dropped into the chapel to say my
beads last night when I came home. It was dark, but
I didn't mind that the sanctuary lamp was enough
reassurance for me even if I was afraid of the dark,
and Fm not, as you know. Dark never bothered me.
But as I went to come out into the hallway, Mother
Brigid was coming into the chapel ; and with the start
she gave when she saw me, you'd think that I was a
banshee. She apologized, of course ; but I could see
she was very nervous. Have you noticed, Maria, or
aren't you paying any attention to me ? You're around
here all day, and I'm not. You must have noticed.
What ails everybody that they've started acting like a
hen on a griddle ?"
"The first of May is coming/' said Maria slowly, not
quite certain that she should offer cause for the nuns*
alarm to the unpredictable Abbie. "It's just the
thought of May Day approaching. I've wanted to re-
assure Mother Brigid ; but she hasn't actually spoken
of it, so I thought it better not to let out that I had
noticed anything out of the way."
"Whoosh, May Day, is it ?" Mrs. Crowley gave a
crow of amusement. "Don't tell me then that they're
planning to hang me a May basket ! So that's what
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 227
all the secrecy and the fidgeting is about. I suppose
they rush the May basket out of the way every time
they hear my ring. Well, I do declare, that's a good
one on me ; but that's the answer of course they're
trimming a May basket.
"The first of May/' she repeated delightedly. "Now
what do you say, Maria, will we get up at dawn and
go out and wash our faces in the dew ? Many a time
I did that when I was a young one it was supposed
to preserve your beauty for the year, or give you a touch
of it if you had none.
"I must ask Mr. Klotz to bring us some pots of prim-
rose. My grandmother used to say that a primrose in
the window on May Day would bring luck to the
house. We must go over to the park, Maria, and see
if there's any Maypole dancing. IT1 find out from Mr.
Liebert where they'd be having it, whether up in Cen-
tral Park or down here in Stuyvesant Square. Maybe,
it would be in Union Square they'd have it ... there'd
be lots of children living down that way."
"If we're wise we'll stay home, and not go anywhere
on May Day," Mrs. Killoran said with unusual firm-
ness. "We'll certainly keep clear of Union Square.
Indeed, I don't think any of the streets around here
would be safe on a day like that. We'll stay home
May Day. We don't want to get mixed up in any of
their parades."
"Whose parades ?" asked Mrs. Crowley wonder-
ingly. "Are there going to be parades ? Well, if
there are I'll be right there. I haven't missed a parade
in years, whether it was the Grand Army on Memorial
Day, or the circus or what not. I was only sorry, as
I've said, we couldn't have been here for the St. Pat-
228 HERSELF :
rick's Day parade. No, indeed, I wouldn't miss a pa-
rade for anything. But I never heard tell of a May Day
parade/'
"Abbie Crowley, don't you ever read the papers ?
You surely must have read about the May Day parades
in New York."
"I don't read the New York papers/' answered Mrs.
Crowley antagonistically. ''Why should I ? I wouldn't
know any of the people that's dead. And I did not,
indeed, ever hear tell of any parading, come the first
of May. You might at least give a civil answer to a
civil question. The first question out of my mouth
was 'Who's parading ?' ; and that, you've not an-
swered."
"As if I could get a word in edgewise once you get
going. Well, this is who's parading. The Commu-
nists are parading. Every May Day they parade all
around these parts, and then all gather together in
Union Square and give speeches. Irmengarde says it
is as much as your life is worth to be anywhere near the
place. They have riots and everything, if the police
try to check them."
"Then it must be the Orangemen are behind them,"
said Mrs. Crowley darkly, "to pick out our Blessed
Mother's own month, and her day, to be streeling
about the streets knocking people on the head, and
no doubt murdering innocent women in their beds.
I always thought that the A.P.A/S had more or less to
do with those Communists ; and if what you say is
true and I don't doubt it ! I don't doubt it ! it
just proves I was right. Well, this is one street they
won't march on. They can make up their minds to
that, and I don't care who tells them."
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 229
"You'll do nothing rash/' Maria spoke quickly and
sharply. "Gerald said that he would see there was no
possible danger to us or to the convent. It's not in
your hands, Abbie. You keep out of it. You stay
indoors that day."
"Then, 111 not stay indoors/' answered Mrs. Crow-
ley proudly. "I'd never lift up my head again if the
like of people of that sort kept me fast to the house
when I felt like going out. And Gerald Murphy or
no Gerald Murphy, you can send these Communists
word from me, that if they value a whole skin they'll
keep off this street."
Mrs. Killoran stood up, and for one of the few times
in their long friendship, Mrs. Crowley saw the serene
and gentle Maria very angry and very determined.
"Abigail Crowley/' she said with narrowed eyes and
firmly compressed lips, "you will mind me in this.
I've given in to you often enough. You'll give in to
me now. What the Communists do or do not do is
none of our business. If they go outside the bounds
of the law, there are policemen enough in New York
to take care of them. I told you that Gerald expects
no disturbance anywhere near us ; but if by chance that
woman that you spanked should think May Day was
her opportunity for revenge she'll find the police
watching for her.
"You are to do nothing at all, do you hear ? I tell
you this, Abbie Crowley unless you give me your
solemn word that you won't go looking for trouble on
May Day, I'll telegraph at once to Father Will and
ask him to come on."
"You'd never do such a thing !" Mrs. Crowley broke
out incredulously.
230 HERSELF :
"Wouldn't I, though/' said Maria firmly. "Fll do
it this very minute unless I have your word."
"It's too bad if an American citizen hasn't any priv-
ileges/' commented Mrs. Crowley bitterly. "He can't
even stick up for his own country and his own flag.
He's supposed to let these Communists and these Bol-
sheviks and these A.P.A/s and atheists and Orangemen
walk all over him. It's a fine how-do-you-do, I must
say."
"Promise !" said Maria inexorably.
"Do you mean to say, Maria Killoran/' Mrs. Crow-
ley made a last spurt of indignation, "that a member of
the Women's Relief Corps and the Spanish War Vet-
erans' auxiliary has to stand idly by and clap hands while
those people insult the flag in Union Square ?"
"The police will handle any flag insulting/' Mrs. Kil-
loran pointed out in unyielding firmness. "What I
want you to promise is to keep away from Union
Square, and certainly not go parading up and down
in front of the convent with a chip on your shoulder.'*
"Oh, well, have it your way," said Mrs. Crowley
finally. "Sooner than have you bothering Father Will
with a lot of nonsense, I'll promise. I won't go near
Union Square, and I won't keep guard in the street.
But I must say, Maria Killoran, I don't think any the
more of you for exacting such a promise. It's not
right and it's not fair. A lot it matters to you whether
or not I'm false to my ancestors and the country that
gave me birth ; but it matters to me/' she said bitterly.
"Fll never hold up my head again.
"But there's one thing I won't promise/' she added
spiritedly. "You nor nobody else is going to make me
stay indoors, just because a lot of wild heathen traitors
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 231
are let loose in the streets. Ill not stay home here
with you and Irmengarde hemming dish towels. Ill
go about my everyday business. Ill go to the theatre
the same as I do every day. Just you try and stop
me, or the Communists either/'
"If you had the sense you were born with you'd be
well content to stay home altogether/' commented
Mrs. Killoran, but more mildly. ''One day taking it
easy wouldn't hurt you. But just so long as you stay
away from Union Square and don't go looking for
trouble, I don't care what you do. But you're behind
the times. The dish towels are all done we're start-
ing on table cloths and napkins now/' she made a hu-
morous moue, pleased that she had won her victory so
easily.
Mrs. Crowley was very grumpy, indeed, for the next
few days. It would have been annoying enough to
have been worsted by Maria in an argument over an
ordinary matter ; but to be forced to abjure an oppor-
tunity to display her ardent patriotism was almost
more than Mrs. Patrick's proud soul could stand.
"If looks could kill/' commented Maria to Mother
Saint Brigid, "I'd have to have the nine lives of a cat
to protect myself these last few days. But shell get
over it ; she'll be thanking me yet."
"I know just how she feels," said Mother Brigid.
"I know how my own Irish used to rise when we'd
cower behind barred doors in the convent and hear the
mob, yelling and screaming, and tearing down and de-
stroying, in the street outside and we wouldn't know
whether it wasn't going to be our turn next. I always
felt that if I was to die a martyr's death I wanted the
232 . HERSELF :
chance to box a few ears before I went, God forgive me.
"I do know, indeed, how she feels ; but I'm so
thankful that you've made her give up any ideas she
had of standing up to those people. I'd never for-
give myself if anything ever happened her while she
was here. It would be my fault, for I know the chapel
incident still rankles in her."
"Tush, tush, tush," answered Maria quickly, "you
don't know her, Mother. I wouldn't put it past her
yet not to get involved in some sort of argument ; but
the only thing I could do, I did. I know Abbie
very well. And I'm not sure that I even did the right
thing in taking the first weapon that was at hand. She
considers herself a martyr now. It will be a long time
before she will be ready to forgive me for taking away
her chance to be a heroine. She has already forgiven
me, as a matter of fact. She can't hold a grudge a
minute. But the dramatics of the situation requires
that she carry on to the end, in whatever role she's
playing. Just now she is Barbara Frietchie prevented
from reaching the attic window. If I'd let her draw
me into another argument, I'd lose, for she'd con-
vince me and ten others like me that I was keep-
ing her from her rightful place in history. And all I'm
doing is keeping her from being arrested."
Mrs. Crowley, herself, might later have admitted the
great justice of Maria's statements ; but at the mo-
ment she was too busy nursing her grievances. As
Mrs. Killoran had advised Mother Saint Brigid, once
Abigail Crowley had committed herself to a line of
thought it had to be carried through to the end. One
of her favorite saws was, "If it's going to be a wedding,
let it be a wedding." Expediency or compromise had
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 233
no place in her make-up. Martyrdom dripped from
her every pore during the last few days of April.
At the theatre she sat gloomily in her box, sadly re-
fusing all friendly overtures from Kay Ney or Berna-
dette, and letting Liebert's teasing sallies fall upon bar-
ren ground. Only once did she show a revival of her
customary spirit That was the morning that Baron,
beaming, came over to her and announced that he had
found a better way to show his gratitude to Mother
Saint Brigid than by foolishly sending gifts she could
not use.
He was unusually loquacious. He had noticed Mrs.
Crowley's forlorn indifference to all that was going on
about her ; he prided himself that his news would de-
light and cheer her, and make her forget the troubles
that seemed to be weighing her down.
"My secretary was sending the fellow away/' he said.
"I make it a rule I have to not to give to people
who come around to the office looking for money. I
have my charities, but I don't believe in giving to
every Tom, Dick and Harry. But today the door was
open I was just getting ready to come over here to
the theatre. I had my hat in my hand and was just
looking around for my gloves so I heard what this
fellow was saying. And just as soon as I heard he was
collecting to help Spain, I came out myself and wrote
him out a cheque right away. You tell Sister that I
proved myself a good loyalist to her cause."
Mrs. Crowley's attention had been wandering dur-
ing Baron's talk ; but the final sentence brought her
up straight. "What do you mean Loyalist ?" she
asked at once.
"It's a joke/' smiled Baron heavily. "That I am
234 HERSELF :
loyal to my old friends like Sister, see? So I give
money to help fight against those people that are
against the Church, her Church. To the Loyalists
I gave a good cheque/ 7
"Merciful heavens I" ejaculated Mrs. Crowley. "Is
the whole world mad except myself ? Was it to the
Loyalists you gave that money ?" she snapped at the
producer.
"That* s right. To buy guns and maybe airship
parts. I only gave five thousand, but 111 give more if
you think that's not enough."
'To the Loyalists !" breathed Mrs. Crowley with a
swift intake of her breath. Then, ignoring Baron com-
pletely, she sprang to her feet and sent out a lusty call
for Tim Sullivan, the press agent, who was standing in
the farther wings. Sullivan came running across the
stage at once. The dancers, in their places for the
Tempest, broke their lines to let him pass ; for Mrs.
Crowley's strident peremptory shout had startled every-
one.
"Run to the bank/ 7 she cried to Sullivan, as he
neared the box, "and have the cheque stopped this
omadhaun wrote out this morning. Don't stand there
gawking I Run, I say !" Sullivan turned toward
Baron/' she turned upon the producer relentlessly,
resignedly.
"Don't stand there like a loon !" snapped Mrs.
Crowley. "Do what I say ! To think that you, Saul
Baron, who could only shrug his shoulders, helplessly,
"wouldn't have the wit a baby not to find out for cer-
tain where that money was going. Oh, I could shake
you I"
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 235
"But Madame Crowley," interposed Baron bewilder-
edly, "it was going to Spain/'
"Yes, to the Communists and the Bolshevists and
the Anarchists, that's where it was going. Get along,
you, Sullivan. What are you waiting for ? Stop that
cheque ! Be off with you !"
The incident confirmed her feeling that in an in-
sane world she alone possessed sanity. She gloated
secretly to herself that, without turning her hand, she
had successfully checkmated Comrade Stalin and com-
pany ; but the taste of victory made her long for more
of the same food. She was sorrier than ever that she
had given in to Maria. She saw in herself a combina-
tion of Moll Pitcher, Margaret Bar Douglas, and the
Countess Markievics.
"Given the chance/' she thought bitterly, "I might
well go down in history as well as the next one."
She was up betimes on the first of May and went out
very early to take the same stroll through the neigh-
borhood as on Easter Sunday. In the back of her
mind was the idea that La Malquerida might, coinci-
dentally, choose May Day for another early morning
raid.
"If she does/' thought Mrs. Crowley grimly, "she
will find me ready for her ; and I'll need no Irmengarde
to help me, either."
But the walk was uneventful. In Stuyvesant Park,
when she saw no passers-by noticing her, she did stoop
and wet her hand in the cobwebby dew that was heavy
on the grass, and rubbed her cheeks with her moist
palm. It amused her to do it ; although, she reflected,
while the fresh morning dew could hardly bring beauty
236 HERSELF :
to her wrinkled cheeks, she did hope its dampness
would not start her neuralgia.
Nevertheless, she bridled and smiled when Joe at
the Coffee Pot exclaimed when he saw her, that she
looked as fresh as a daisy at an hour when many women
would be unkempt and tousled, and heavy with sleep.
She explained to him, then, about the power of the
dew on May Day morning. Joe was properly im-
pressed. He had never heard that one ; that custom
did not prevail in his own Poland, as far as he knew ;
but he was ready to believe in its truth. Joe was un-
married and misanthropic. For a half hour Mrs.
Crowley and he had an interesting and uplifting con-
versation on the evil effects of cosmetics on the skin.
The discussion cheered Mrs. Crowley. She ambled
away from the Coffee Pot in better humor than she
had been for the past few days.,
Sam Klotz was washing his windows as she passed
the florist shop on the way back to the convent. He
hailed her joyously, and drew her inside the shop to
see the pots of Irish primrose that he had sent for at
her orders. Becky had wrapped each pot in fringed
and crinkled tissue paper to make it look like a May
basket. The row of plants on the shelf ledge stood
in a brave array of rainbow-colored bases. Becky and
Sam stood back, beamingly waiting for Mrs. Crowley
to admire Becky's handiwork.
It was fortunate that Mrs. Crowley had regained her
good humor, for Becky was artistic but no artist. The
gentle yellow primroses struggled hard to force their
beauty over the garish orange and magenta, purple and
green, red and blue wrappings.
"So to Sammy I said, we should make bright the pots
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 237
for such a nice, good customer," exclaimed Becky hap-
pily, her face wreathed in smiles. "We should show
something extra, and make them for her May baskets
like in the five-and-ten on Fourteenth Street. You
like them, hanh ? Was so pretty, I keep telling Sammy
as I do the work by them. Was so ugly the pots, and
now just have a look. So beautiful I"
"They're very striking/' said Mrs. Crowley faintly.
She was thinking of the exquisitely refined artistic
taste of Sor Juan de Toledo and Sor Santa Maria da
Campo. She would have to have Mother Saint Brigid
explain that the bedizened wrappings were not of her
choosing.
"So Sammy, they strike her right. So we have told
each other, Mrs. Lady Crowley. It took time but
I should worry to take time out to do some things
nice. Why not ? Why are we here, I tells Sammy,
but to do good to others. If others are good to you,
you should show appreciation. Ain't that what it
should be ?"
"They're lovely lovely," answered Mrs. Crowley
firmly, "and they must represent a great deal of work.
Thank you, Mrs. Klotz, thank you very, very much.
It was a very lovely thought ; and I do appreciate it."
"One other thing," said Becky timidly and shyly.
Sam stood wagging his head from side to side, in satis-
fied pride over his wife's accomplishments. "One
other thing. I say to Sammy we should ask it anyway,
but no harm, no ill-feelings, if it ain't possible. For
you we have such friendships, me and Sammy, like we
known you a long time. We can't do too much to
show how we feel. This ain't nothing. What I
would ask, but I have the shyness in my tongue
238 HERSELF :
would you and the other lady do us proud as by us to
come to dinner some night ?"
She stood back, her fat face wistful, afraid that she
had spoken too boldly.
"Why, yes," Mrs. Crowley answered, very touched.
"Yes, we'll be glad to. You fix the evening and 111
arrange that Maria and I will be free. Yes, indeed/'
Becky's face lighted at once. Her fat elbow jammed
into Sammy's side delightedly. "So I told you ! By us
plain people a grand leader of society should think
shame to come, says Sammy. No, I tell him, the real
thing won't think nothing but good if we ask them.
Even if they don't know I'm a good cook, still yet
they'll come by us if we ask them nice. Such a din-
ner I'll have for you, Mrs. Lady Crowley. Name what
you like and it will be on the table. You like the
Hamantasche, you tell me one time. Even if Purim
is passed, Hamantasche will be on that table. Such
good things I'll have for you, you'll never be able to
guess/'
Both Sam and Becky insisted on carrying over the
pots of primrose to the convent at once. Mrs. Crow-
ley armed herself with two of the least vividly colored ;
and the three set off in a miniature May procession of
their own. Whatever doubts Mrs. Crowley may have
had about offending Sor San Juan de Toledo's Attic
taste were more than offset by Sor San Diego's rap-
turous cries of admiration ; and although Mother Saint
Brigid whispered to her in the Gilbert and Sullivan
patois, "Primary colors," she, too, was touched by Mrs.
Klotz* earnest efforts to give added pleasure.
"And the blessed primroses/' sighed the Superior.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 239
"Nothing, not even the shamrocks, could bring Ire-
land back to me so tenderly/'
Mrs. Patrick Crowley was very pleased, indeed, with
her morning. And Maria, whom she greeted with
her old affection as she brought in a primrose for her
window sill, saw her off for the theatre later in the
morning and was quite content to let her go un-
chaperoned.
CHAPTER X
1RITZ LIEBERT came Into the theatre
as the afternoon rehearsal was drawing to
a close. Mrs. Crowley leaning over the
railing of her box to chat with Kay Ney
on the stage below saw him hovering in
the wings. She had felt all day that she was entitled to
some pleasant reward for having so faithfully kept her
promise to Maria. She wanted diversion and entertain-
ment. It occurred to her that she had not truly seen the
bright lights of Broadway at all. She decided to ask
Liebert to take her to dinner, and then for a stroll up
and down Broadway and Seventh Avenue among the
theatre-going throngs. The idea delighted her. First,
she planned to herself happily, they would have a cock-
tail in the Astor's open air lounge. It would be a very
daring thing to do, she realized, to take an alcoholic
drink so openly, with every passer-by well aware that it
was not sarsaparilla nor lemon soda that your glass held.
Mary Ellen Shea, she thought with a chuckle, would
consider such a thing very brazen ; but Mary after all was
such a stick-in-the-mud. In Rome, reflected Mrs.
Crowley, there was little fun unless you were willing
to act like a true Roman. It would be a great lark ;
and all the more fun because it would shock the girls
at home when she told them of it. Aggie Kelly read
Liebert's syndicated column in the Boston paper ; that
she knew. How Aggie's eyes would pop when she
heard that her friend, Abbie, had had cocktails with the
240
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 241
columnist himself right out in the street, in plain view
of all New York I
As soon as Kay Ney left her, called away for a con-
ference with Towler and Plante, she stood up in the
box and signalled to Liebert over the heads of the
dancers. She was elated to see, as he circled the group
on the stage to come toward her, that he was not only
in full evening kit, but carried a closed opera hat and
an ivory-headed can. It delighted her that he had
chosen to wear a tailcoat and white tie, that evening
of all evenings. There is nothing more stylish, nor
looks better on a man, she told herself, than a claw-
hammer coat, and a stove-pipe hat. It had been a bit
of unconscious foresight that had made her change her
own dress after her morning walk, and caused her to
add the crowning touch of earrings and pearl beads,
and her Queen of Scots bonnet.
"What are you doing with yourself this evening/'
she asked him at once with offhand camaraderie, "all
dressed up like Mrs. Astor's plush horse? My, but
you look nice ! Turn around there, and let me get a
good look at you. What's on tonight . . . the lino-
typers' ball or a Park Avenue soiree? You look as
though you were going courting who is she ?"
Liebert flushed and looked embarrassed. Mrs. Crow-
ley had expected a bantering answer. She scrutinized
him more carefully. There is more to this than meets
the eye, she told herself ; he must really be going spark-
ing.
She hooted at him derisively. "Your collar must
be too tight, you're getting red in the face. Don't
blush when you're talking to me ! What will all these
people be thinking ? That I'm saying more than my
242 HERSELF :
prayers. Far be it from me to bring the blush of
shame to any young innocent's face. Stop it, I say !
What have you up your sleeve that a body can't speak
to you without you twitching like a school boy?
Where are you off to, all dressed up in that rig ?"
Baron from his seat in the orchestra pit boomed out
suddenly to Miss Ney that he was satisfied with the
rehearsal of the swing number. The participants were
free to go. They might have the evening off. The
stage was needed to rehearse several of the other
groups. Those in the swing number alone need not
report again until nine the next morning. He warned
them to come prepared, then, to stay all day and all
evening.
Bernadette O'Brien and Kay Ney came over to the
box as the ballet girls scattered joyfully from the stage.
"What a break/' said the dancer. "Does anybody
know the name of a good book that I can take to bed
with me ? How I'm going to enjoy this evening a
hot bath and lots and lots of bed. What about you,
Bernadette ? Same thing ?"
"Well - no/' began Bernadette, "not exactly. Fm
invited out to dinner." Mrs. Crowley's eyes narrowed.
She noticed for the first time that Bernadette was
wearing the flowered chiffon dinner gown that she had
insisted on getting for her on the Holy Saturday shop-
ping spree. She threw a quick glance at Liebert. He
wrinkled his nose at her and grinned.
"Bless you, my children," she said, throwing out her
hands and waving them off. For the moment she for-
got that she, herself, had planned to be Liebert's part-
ner in her now delighted certainty that her instinct for
incipient romance had not failed her ; that Liebert had
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 243
at last uncovered his hand. "Go along now and have
a good time/'
"Won't you come, too ?" asked Liebert pleasantly,
his eyes daring her to accept an invitation that was
given only in teasing politeness.
"Grandma, the demon chaperon, has plans of her
own, thank you/' she answered him dryly. "But see
you get this girl home at a reasonable hour now, my
boy. She has a hard day ahead of her. Don't get
run over by any milkman's horse."
For all that Kay Ney had insisted that she was going
right home and to bed, she seemed loath to leave the
theatre and Mrs. Crowley's company. She felt lone-
some, she confessed ; complete fatigue always affected
her so and she was dead tired. Mrs. Crowley, too,
now that she saw her enthusiastic plans for the evening
toppled about her, felt a little forlorn. She asked the
dancer diffidently if she would join her in having a
bite to eat.
"I'm really too tired to eat just now," Kay said. "I
thought after I'd rested I might make myself some milk
toast before I went to bed. But I'll go with you for
the sake of company. What I really need is a pick-
me-up. I'm all in, truly."
"Would you have a cocktail with me ?" asked Mrs.
Crowley, feeling very daringly sophisticated. "I do
hope she won't think wrong of me," she thought guilt-
ily after she had spoken, "I wouldn't want her to think
that I was a steady drinker."
"I would like a glass of sherry, or better still a sherry
eggnog," said Kay frankly. "I never allow myself more
than one, and that rarely ; but I am dog-tired tonight."
"Oh, I'd never take more than one," agreed Mrs.
244 HERSELF :
Crowley, "and to tell you the truth, Fd as leave have
a soda ; but I kind of thought Fd like to sit out there
in that sidewalk place at the Astor and look over the
people going by. I thought it might be fun/'
''Come on/' said Kay. "You're on. We can relax
for a half hour, then Fll put you in a cab and pop off
to bed, myself. That's a swell idea. It sounds just
what the doctor would order."
They discovered Liebert's evening stick leaning
against the box. He had forgotten it when he and
Bemadette had hurried away pursued by Mrs. Crow-
ley's raillerie. It just supplemented her costume, Kay
told her companion ; it gave her added impressiveness.
"With that stick you look for all the world like
someone they'd call 'Ole Miss' down South," she ex-
claimed, "or like Ethel Barrymore in that new Jalna
play."
"I'm still a good bit short of being a hundred," com-
mented Mrs. Crowley, "and I certainly am nimble
enough not to need a stick, but I'll take it along any-
way, and keep it for him." She was pleased with Kay's
compliment, nevertheless ; and holding the cane did
give her a greater feeling of authority. She stamped
it decisively on the stage floor. "What, ho, the
guards !" she cried. "Turn out me carriage."
"The carriage awaits below, me lady," responded
Kay, sweeping her a courtesy. They left the theatre
arm in arm, giggling together like school girls.
Mrs. Crowley tut-tutted Kay's wish to signal a taxi-
cab for her when they had emerged to the sidewalk
after an extremely pleasant half hour together, sipping
their sherry eggnogs. She was in no mind to go right
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 245
home, she told the dancer. She believed she would
stay out a while longer and maybe take in a movie.
Of course, she would be all right ! What nonsense
to think otherwise, she chided Kay.
"Amn't I armed ?" she said, holding up the evening
stick, and laughing. "You're tired, alanna ; good and
tired. Run along with you, and get your proper rest.
Run along or Til give you a cut with my stick. 'Tis a
beautiful night, and I intend to enjoy it a while/'
Kay left her reluctantly at the side street leading to
her apartment ; but she could not sway Mrs. Crowley's
determination, nor would the old lady hear of Kay's
staying with her any longer. She "vanted to be
alo-an" she insisted humorously, and packed Kay off
as soon as they had reached her street corner.
The eddying crowds along Seventh Avenue fas-
cinated Mrs. Crowley, as did the thousands of winking,
blinking lights above them. She looked in vain for
the Corticelli kitten playing with his spool. Aggie
Kelly had told her of it, and she thought she would
like to see such an amusing spectacle herself ; but after
looking for it fruitlessly for fifteen minutes she remem-
bered then that Aggie had not been to New York since
before the World War. It was more than likely, she
reflected, that the sign had worn out in the meantime.
Broadway, she thought, as she paced easily along,
was like Main Street in Millington on Saturday night,
shopping night, when the stores stayed open until nine
o'clock and you saw everyone you ever knew down
street. Certainly everybody in New York seemed to
have turned out to march up and down Broadway
or was it Seventh Avenue. New York streets were a
sight easier to master than those in Boston, where
246 HERSELF :
everything went around in a circle; but which was
Broadway and which was Seventh Avenue in and
about Times Square was still a problem to her.
The people on the street looked much like Milling-
ton people. She saw one woman who had a distinct
look of a woman named Doherty whom she did not
know very well, but whom she used to see occasion-
ally at church ; and another young girl was the dead
image of Connie Casey, even to her get-up. She had
the very same kind of peaked Tyrolean hat and long
bob. The groups of sailors that passed her made her
feel the same sense of familiarity. Boys from the
Training Station and the Torpedo Station at Newport
often came to Millington to the motion picture thea-
tres and to dances ; and on her trips to Newport with
Aggie Kelly to visit the Cenacle she always reserved a
half hour for a leisurely window-shopping tour of
Thames Street, made colorful for her by the strolling
blue or white uniformed sailors on shore leave.
Her musing took her farther uptown than she had
intended. The tap-tap of a blind beggar's stick and
his forlorn chanting of a doleful hymn awoke her from
her reveries. She looked about to see if she had
progressed as far as the statue of Father Duffy, and
found that she had walked way past it, and was at
Columbus Circle. The green of the lawn and trees
of Central Park stretched away to her left, beyond the
impressive Maine memorial statuary. She picked her
way carefully, with frequent pauses and full stops,
across the traffic-laden Circle. By the time she had
gained the welcome oasis of the monument to Colum-
bus, she recognized, with annoyed acerbity, that it had
taken longer for the half crossing than to walk up from
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 247
the theatre. She gave a friendly nod to the sculptured
Genoese before she stepped off his island sanctuary.
"Well, Christopher/' she apostrophized him si-
lently, "you never had the like of this to put up with,
coming over. You had a clearer track than Fin hav-
ing. Glory be, it's like a game you'd play as a child,"
she commented to herself, " "Blackie, blackie blue
bird' or 'Red Rover, Red Rover, let Abbie come over'
with half a hundred automobiles at once trying to tag
you It' "
She was not quite certain which annoyed her most,
the swerving wheels of the motor cars wheeling about
the Circle as though they were on a merry-go-round,
or the petulantly insistent clanging of the bells on the
scow-like street cars trying to edge their way along
Fifty-ninth Street. As she teetered hesitantly and im-
patiently on the curb of the safety island, her ire rose
when she saw that the greater part of the darting auto-
mobiles were taxicabs, empty, their drivers cruising for
fares.
She found that she was stamping Liebert's stick up
and down on the curb in her impatience, and at once
thought of a better use for it. She waved it peremp-
torily in the air. A cab plunging by skidded to a quick
stop before her. The chauffeur threw open the door,
but she stepped firmly in front of his car and raised
her stick again. Another cab swerved to a stiff halt
abreast the first. "Whassa big idea ? Smy fare I"
she heard the first cabman yell angrily to his fellow,
and the second driver yell back in words that indi-
cated, she thought grimly, that he stood small chance
of being elected president of the Holy Name Society.
She paid no attention to the argument ; but stepped
248 HERSELF :
boldly out beyond the second cab and hailed still a
third. In the distance, she could hear Cabman Primus
and Cabman Secundus joining forces against Cabman
Tertius, who had obligingly stopped in the same direct
line. It would have been an interesting argument to
listen to, she thought, had she time ; for, while she
could not approve of the language that was being used,
still it was extremely colorful She halted a moment
to listen ; but then told herself firmly that she had
other more important fish to fry, and stepping beyond
the yellow hood of Cabman Tertius' vehicle again
waved her wand and brought still another cruising taxi
to a halt. Cabman Tertius turned at once from his
former opponents to object as strenuously to a fourth
man chiselling in ; but Mrs. Patrick Crowley was out
of his hearing, waving for the fifth and last Jehu neces-
sary to draw up, so that she could safely walk in front
of his chariot to the farther curb. She looked back
placidly at the five cabs breasting the traffic from the
monument Neither the bellowing horns of cars be-
hind them, the shrill blowing of policemen's whistles
all about the Circle, nor the still insistent clanging of
the bells on the trolley cars disturbed her now.
She leaned on her stick and surveyed the traffic tie-up
complacently. "Where there's a will, there's a way,"
she considered blandly, "and there's more ways of kill-
ing a cat than by stuffing him with butter. Fd have
been a right handy person to have had along when
Moses split open the Red Sea. I may be old and I
may be from the country, but there are no flies on Ab-
bie Crowley/'
She admired the elaborateness of the memorial to
the sailors whose lives were lost when the battleship
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 249
Maine was sunk in Manila Harbor, but she found its
symbolism much too fancy for her chaste Yankee Irish
taste. The nude boys hovering about the glorified
ship's prow might well have been dressed in sailors'
suits and no harm done, she deliberated. It certainly
was no monument in front of which to kneel down and
say your prayers for the men who were lost. People
walking by might think you were worshipping Greek
statues.
She was tempted to recross the circle by the same
delightful means she had earlier discovered, but a
policeman standing near the monument gave her a
slightly quizzical look as she neared the curb, so she
abandoned the idea.
She remembered that she had not eaten, and wa-
vered in indecision before Childs' restaurant. Then it
occurred to her that the pugilist Jack Dempsey ran an
eating place somewhere in the neighborhood. Liebert
had spoken of it. That would be a great place to eat,
if only for the sake of telling of it when she returned
to Millington. Dinnie Shea and the boys would get
a great kick out of her eating with Jack Dempsey. It
would top old Ned Meehan's boast that his hand had
shaken the hand that shook the hand of John L. Sulli-
van.
She asked a passer-by where the restaurant was. He
directed her toward Madison Square Garden, brightly
explaining that it was not truly a garden and had noth-
ing to do with Madison Square, but that if she found
the Garden she would easily light upon the restaurant
His directions confused her. Nothing in New York
seemed to be what it should be. His efforts to be
helpful were so determinedly enthusiastic, however,
250 HERSELF :
that she stifled criticism of them and wandered off
hopefully in the direction of his pointing finger.
She became interested in a series of broadside post-
ers, on the blank grayish walls of what she thought was
a storage warehouse. They advertised a "Gala Mass
Meeting in the Interests of American Democracy," to
be held, she scrutinized the smaller black print, at the
very Madison Square Garden for which she was seek-
ing, that very night. She reached under her cape and
turned her chatelaine watch about to see the time.
The meeting must have already started ; it was close
to nine o'clock, later than she had thought, and the
placards advertised the meeting to start at eight. Still,
if she could ever find Madison Square Garden, she
thought she would enjoy a good mass meeting, with
such a worthy cause as its reason for being. The list
of speakers seemed imposing enough to suit the most
fastidious. She recognized none of the names, yet
they seemed as if they might be recognizable, had she
been a born New Yorker. It would be a pleasant and
a fitting close to a day that seemed, in New York, to
have been taken over bodily by Communists, to hear a
score of good sound arguments in favor of Democracy.
It was about time that someone had the spirit to stick
up for real American institutions. Let it not be said,
if they had that spirit, that Mrs. Patrick Crowley would
not willingly forgo her supper to cheer them on. The
more power to them. She'd certainly attend that
meeting.
She asked another passer-by the way to the Garden,
since she felt time was fleeting, and snorted in exas-
peration as he pointed to the wall behind her. "If it
was a little dog it would bite me/' she told him dis-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 251
gustedly, "but I didn't know just what to look for/*
she added in hasty explanation of her stupidity. "Still
you'd think that if they persisted in calling it a garden
they might at least set out a few geraniums in window
boxes to give a body a clue/'
Interest in democracy was at a low ebb in New York,
Mrs. Crowley decided, when she reached the gateway
entrance of the building, and found it deserted. She
had expected to find great masses of people grouped on
the street, unable to gain admittance but eager to hear
the speeches re-broadcast outside the building. A
pretty state of affairs, indeed, she grumbled, when the
Communists could fill Union Square and the defend-
ers of republican and democratic government hold a
meeting that brought no overflow.
She was stopped at the entrance doors by an attend-
ant, who demanded her ticket. She had no ticket, she
told him bluntly, but if it was necessary she would buy
one. She made it very plain, however, that she con-
sidered an entrance fee to an affair of that kind a down-
right imposition. In a free country there should be
no charge to hear the principles of democracy ex-
pounded. No wonder the Communists were making
such headway. "How much are the tickets ?" she
asked finally, drawing her change purse from her hand-
bag.
"Ff dollahs, lady/' the round-shouldered gateman
said wearily.
"Five dollars I" her voice rose in instant protest.
"The idea five dollars ! Five dollars, how are you ?
Don't stand there and tell me any such tale. Why, it's
highway robbery I"
"Don' blame me, lady/' the attendant shifted his
2,52 HERSELF :
position lazily. "I ain't the boss. I on'y work here. I
don' get none of it. Fi' dollahs or two bits, it's all the
same to me. This is a highbrow bunch puttin' this
on. They can charge fifty dollahs for all o' me. These
are intellectuals, and I guess they got the dough. They
all planked down anyway, they all come across. You
too, lady, or I can't let you in."
''Five dollars !" Mrs. Crowley reiterated. 'I'm not
close with my money, young man, and I never was ;
but I don't believe in throwing it away. Five dol-
lars ! Well, when you see those in charge of this
meeting you tell them that I said five dollars was a
deal too much to be charging to hear what every school
child should know. If I had the running of an affair
like this and I have had in my day I'd not charge
a red penny ; and I'd have the place not only packed
to the roof but the streets filled for miles around out-
side. Five dollars ! They must think people are
made of money !"
The gateman shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
Mrs. Crowley replaced her purse in her bag and started
to turn away. From behind the doorman's tired back,
an eager voice hailed her suddenly. A short, plump,
dapper little man with waxed mustaches dashed past
the doorman and came toward her, holding out his
hands.
"Ah, Madame/' he cried, "so you have arrive'. I
will be your escort. I have wait' here knowing too
surely you would come. We have not delay' the meet-
ing, but the best speakers are yet to be beared."
Mrs. Crowley felt that again she was being mistaken
for someone else and tried to demur ; but the little
man had grasped her arm, and with a torrent of apolo-
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 253
gies for not being at the gate at the very moment of
her arrival, was whirling her along the passageway, he-
fore she had a chance to speak. In vain she tried to
protest to her escort that he was mistaken, that she was
Mrs. Patrick Crowley of Millington no matter who he
thought she was ; and that she had not only not been
expected at the mass meeting, but had happened upon
it quite by accident. To all her gasping expostulations
he turned an unheeding ear. "Yes, yes, yes-s," he
kept answering ; but she knew very well that he was
not paying attention to a thing she said. She gave up
explaining herself at last. The time would come, she
felt certain, when he would ask for her ticket or her
five dollars. It would be well enough to save her
breath for that moment. There were a few things she
had neglected to tell the doorman about the iniquity
of asking such a fee for attendance on a democratic
gathering. This man, who represented authority, would
be the man to speak to ; and speak to him, then, she
would, and not spare him any gory details.
The little man dragged her along at such a pace
that she had little time to think clearly. They seemed
to be moving through a series of subterranean pas-
sages. She had already placed her guide very definitely
as a "foreigner/ She thought it very queer indeed that
he should be one of those in charge of a truly Ameri-
can mass meeting, particularly as he seemed a 'foreign
foreigner/ as differentiated from the good Americans
of alien birth she knew and liked in Millington. Mary
Shea, she knew, would be convinced that he was the
type of 'foreigner' who went about murdering people
in their beds. She grasped Lieberfs evening stick
more firmly in her free hand, as the thought of Mary
254 HERSELF :
flashed into her mind ; but just then, as she prepared
herself for possible self-defence, they emerged suddenly
in the vast, brilliantly lighted arena. She found her-
self being helped up a set of wooden steps, onto a stage
platform where a violently tempestuous speaker was
striding back and forth before a battery of public ad-
dress microphones.
She heard the speaker before she really saw him.
His voice thundered back from the high galleries of the
Garden. The change from the subdued light of the
passageways to the fierce glare of the arena had mo-
mentarily blinded her. She realized, as she was led
across the stage behind the orator's back, that men and
women seated arc-wise on the platform were half ris-
ing and bowing to her. At the farther end of the
stage she sank gratefully into a cane-seated chair that
was quickly shoved into place for her, and slowly be-
gan to orientate herself.
The high-flung balconies and galleries of the Gar-
den were unoccupied, she saw, but the floor of the
arena was filled with people ; two thousand or more,
she estimated roughly about as many as had been
able to crowd into the Millington Casino the night De
Valera spoke ; just about. At five dollars a throw, she
commented, it was a good, large crowd ; more's the
pity there was that charge, or the crowd might well be
ten times the size.
She twisted in her seat to scan the people sitting
with her on the platform. Her eyes were still not too
well adjusted to the glaring lights, so she did not at
first recognize the cool, soft voice beside her that spoke
at once in amused surprise.
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 255
"Mrs. Crowley we meet again."
Mrs. Crowley blinked her eyes. "Well, of all things
and all places ! How are you, Duchess ?" she replied
eagerly.
The Duchess of Oxbridge smiled back. "Am I the
Duchess or are you the Duchess? The funniest little
man met me at the entrance and seemed to take for
granted that I was a congresswoman or something of
the sort. Nothing I could say seemed to impress him
at all. Then a few minutes ago, these people started
whispering that the 'duchess' was coming on the stage
and you turn out to be she. I admit you do look
much more duchessy than I ; but it really is very amus-
ing."
"I met the same little man/' whispered Mrs. Crow-
ley, her hand to her mouth to shield her words against
the roar of the public address system, "and, indeed, he
acted just as funny with me. Would he listen to who
I was ? He would not but drag me along unheed-
ing ! What sort of doings are going on here, anyway ?
Five dollars the man at the door wanted to make me
pay to come in, and me just happening by !"
"Fm delighted that you are here. I haven't been
here too long myself ; but, frankly, I think I was mis-
led. You see," she reached over and patted Mrs.
Crowley's hand, "I'm sailing for England in the morn-
ing. Yes, going back home. And I don't feel that I
shall cross to America again. So when these people
telephoned me and were so insistent about my pres-
ence here, I thought I would give my last night in New
York to well to the American ideal. A farewell
gesture to the land of my birth. From tomorrow on,
256 HERSELF :
I shall be a very proper Englishwoman. You know
what that means as you know what I do not have to
speak aloud to you.
"They told me that it was to be a gathering of cul-
tured liberals professors, writers, scientists, that sort
of thing to well, to proclaim the old American
standards of democratic government in the face of all
these -isms that are everywhere today. But frankly,
all this fellow up there now has been shouting is about
lifting the embargo on arms for Loyalist Spain. I
don't know much about the rightness of either side
fighting there ; but this fellow seems to be too one-
sided about it. I should think it would be more
American either to help both sides or not to aid either
one. It would seem fairer. Don't you think so ?
Or am I all wrong about it ?"
"Wait until I get a good listen/' Mrs. Crowley re-
assured her. "IT1 soon tell you what's what. I've
more than a sneaking suspicion that we're in the wrong
pew. I didn't half care for that fellow that dragged
me in here ; and I don't altogether like the looks of
some of these people sitting alongside us. That fel-
low over there at the end. I wouldn't put anything
past him from the look of him."
"He's the chairman/' whispered her companion.
"He looks more like one of the things you see when
you haven't your gun," Mrs. Crowley retorted. "I'd
like to know the year his people came over. He never
voted for Grover Cleveland, and no one since I'll
bet my bottom dollar. They don't make them any
more foreign looking than the like of him. But, whisht,
until I take in what this loud-mouthed roarer is say-
ing."
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 257
She listened in tight-lipped concentration, leaning
forward on her stick. The Duchess of Oxbridge re-
laxed and, with smiling interest, watched the play of
expression on Mrs. Crowley's old face. She saw that
Mrs. Crowley shared her own mistrust of the speaker
for her thin hands clenched and unclenched on the
ivory knob of the stick, her eyes snapped, and her
mouth pantomimed in turn disgust, disagreement, and
martyred forbearance.
As the speaker began a final outburst of impassioned
speech that seemed to indicate his peroration, Mrs.
Crowley turned sharply around. "Will we clear out
of here, or will we stay 1" she said forthrightly. "This
fellow's a scalawag. Fd have little to do to sit here
and listen to the likes of him. Democratic govern-
ment, forsooth ! From the talk of him, the only dem-
ocratic government he has any use for is in Russia and
Mexico and the like of that. He's not mentioned the
United States but once in the last twenty minutes and
then only in a sneer at capitalism. I'd like well to
give him a piece of my mind ; I would, just. Big
placards advertising a meeting on American ideals of
government, drawing people in innocent-like, and then
poisoning the air they'd be breathing with such propa-
ganda. I've half a mind to get up myself and answer
back that bucko.
"Don't worry, lassie," she saw the duchess bite her
lip, and could not be sure whether it was in concern or
in amused agreement, "I'll not give him the satisfac-
tion. I'll stay 'mum' for a while ; but I'll not leave
here. You go 'long, if you will ; but I'll stay. I want
to hear this out to the end. I've a feeling in my bones
that I wasn't led to come here by accident/'
258 HERSELF :
"Nor have I any intention of leaving/' answered her
companion, "not if you're staying. Remember that I
am undoubtedly listed as a sponsor of this this gath-
ering. That, 1 shall repudiate as soon as I leave here
by calling the newspapers at once. But Til hear the
speakers out as long as you choose to stay."
As the chairman of the meeting announced the suc-
ceeding speaker she nudged the duchess sharply with
her elbow. Her keen, restless eyes had noticed a
swarthy man at the rear of the platform shuffling a
handful of papers as he rose from his seat.
"Then I don't like the looks of this fellow/' she
whispered. "Did you get who he is ? To tell you
the truth, I wasn't listening/'
"He's from the Spanish government, chairman of
the anarchist bloc in Madrid. He's going to speak OB
Spanish democracy."
"American ideals, do you tell me ?" commented Mrs.
Crowley scathingly. "An anarchist no less ! Give-
credit to Emma Goldman. She wouldn't be such a
hypocrite as to appear at a meeting like this. It's a
fine state of things when they have to drag in an an-
archist to lecture to presumably intelligent people on
the ideals of our country. It was one of them, sure,
that shot Garfield. Ideals of democracy ! I've more
mind than ever to get up and give those sheep in
the audience a good tongue-lashing, a good talking-
to."
A burst of applause greeted Senor Tirales as he
walked beamingly to the rostrum. Mrs. Crowley
glared at the audience sourly, and her hands tightened
on her stick. She was confident that this speaker was
to try her to her very soul. Her lips tightened in a thin
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 259
white line in her effort to hear him through with some
measure of composure.
Sefior Tirales began his address with suavely phrased
expressions of greeting and admiration from the new-
est of republics in the Old World to the oldest of Re-
publics in the New. He talked easily and well, with
an appearance of such complete candor that the Duch-
ess of Oxbridge settled back in her chair with relief.
But a chance glance at her companion showed her that
Mrs. Patrick Crowley, like the Old Lady of Windsor,
was not amused.
"He seems all right/' the duchess whispered, tenta-
tively.
"Hmnh," was the answer. "We'll see when he
finishes the soft-soap. Fm much too old a bird to be
caught by any such chaff/'
Time and again, in the succeeding half hour, the
duchess scanned Mrs. Crowley's face worriedly. The
older woman had been right ; for, his preliminary re-
marks over and done with, Senor Tirales had launched
into a bitter attack on the three secret forces he
claimed were subverting the cause of democratic re-
publican government in Spain. Against Fascism and
Nazism, he declaimed furiously in a few brief sen-
tences, then dismissed them contemptuously. It was
his mention of the third secret power behind Franco,
and her feeling that his speech was to be concerned
with that alone that worried the duchess. Mrs. Crow-
ley sat like a woman of stone as Tirales hurled diatribe
after diatribe at the Catholic church.
"Not Mussolini, not Hitler, but the Catholic church
is what we are fighting today/' he shrieked, his suavity
gone, "and we will win. In Russia the People's Front
260 HERSELF :
has won ; and so, too, will the people win in Spain.
The Catholic church is the enemy of all democracies.
Throughout the world wherever democracy and the
rule of the people is to be established, the Catholic
church must go. It has gone in Russia, and once again
the Russian people are free. It will go in Spain and
freedom will come again to the people of my coun-
try."
His voice sank darkly. "You do not know what
crimes the Catholic church has committed you a
free Protestant people could never for one moment
think of the horror Catholicism has brought upon
Spain. The Spanish people have been enslaved, made
serfs and peons. The women of Spain have been de-
livered into worse than bondage,
"You need not take my word alone. I support what
I say. With me tonight I have a compatriot, a woman
who has suffered for her country and for her ideals of
true democracy, a woman who has known all the hor-
ror and all the vengeance of this so-called church of
God
"I have brought her here that you may hear from
her own lips of the godlessness of those who call them-
selves priests and sisters of God, of the indecency and
the corruption of the Catholic church in Spain. Much
of what she has told me I would refuse to let you hear.
For clean minds, such debauched obscenity as she has
been forced to witness would be unbelievable. But
it is true. Every word she says is true. No one can
deny her. Here on this platform I challenge any priest
here in America to say what she says is not true. If
there is a Catholic here let him try to challenge what
she says. He cannot do it. It is true true/'
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 261
Mrs. Patrick Crowley left her immovability for an
instant. To the look of horrified disgust that the
duchess turned toward her, she flashed a grim smile.
" 'Brag's a good dog, but Hold Fast is better/ " she
quoted. "Well see what we'll see/'
"Through the ages the people of Spain have been
held down by the power of the Catholic church. But
Sister Maria has dared that power. She has fled to
the United States to tell you of the curse that we are
trying to lift from Spain." He turned toward the
group on the platform, "Sister Maria/' he called out
sharply.
A heavily veiled, black figure came forward and
stood beside him. Mrs. Patrick Crowley leaned for-
ward on her cane. The duchess stiffened in her seat
apprehensively. Sefior Tirales with a quick move-
ment lifted the nun's thick black veils and threw them
back over her head.
"Ladies and gentlemen of America," he said, "Sister
Maria, the Spanish Franciscan nun, here in the robes
of her order, will tell you of her life of shame in a
Madrid convent."
From her sleeve, the nun took a roll of parchment,
and in a heavily articulated voice started to read, as if
by rote, what was written upon it.
The duchess heard the swift intake of Mrs. Crow-
ley's breath as the nun stumbled over the opening sen-
tence of greeting ; then, in a moment, there was a swift
flash of black beside her. Mrs. Crowley had bounded
across the platform to take her stand beside the^nun.
The metal tip of her cane beat a peremptory tattoo as
the audience stirred uneasily. Sefior Tirales rushed
forward ; but the cane at that moment was swung so
262 HERSELF :
menacingly in his direction that he was forced to stop
short. The duchess rose and listened tensely as Mrs.
Crowley's old voice trumpeted forth.
"Ill have no more of this nonsense/' she cried. "Ill
not hear another word ! Nor will you until I've
had my say I"
"Let the nun speak. Fair play for the nun," came a
shout from the back of the hall. "Let her speak, then
well hear you." The audience started to applaud the
speaker, but the swift pounding of Mrs. Crowley's cane
silenced them again.
"Nun, is it ?" her voice rang out in scathing irony.
"Who told her she was a nun ? That blackfaced fel-
low over there, no doubt/' She swung her cane about
threateningly at Senor Tirales. "Well, she's no nun.
Do you hear that now ? She's no nun, I say ! Look
here !" Her trembling hand reached forward to the
blackdraped figure cowering against the rostrum. With
a sweep of her arm she tore the veils from the woman's
head. A tangle of greasy black hair fell to the woman's
waist.
"Hair like that never grew in the time she's sup-
posed to have left her convent," Mrs. Crowley called
out scornfully. "And a Franciscan she's supposed to
be ; and this is supposed to be a Franciscan habit.
Well, let me tell you for I know that the Fran-
ciscan habit is brown. This black get-up is the sort of
thing you'd buy at a costumer's. And that's where this
bold lady got it, no doubt. Silence out there. I'll not
be crossed. And 111 not hold off speaking until I've
had my say.
"I know this this female ! Indeed, and I've had
cause ! And if there's a policeman in the hall let him
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 263
march up here at the sound of my voice. There's a
charge of breaking and entering and of malicious mis-
chief against this one at headquarters/'
"Who made the charge ?" someone called sus-
piciously from the audience.
"I made the charge/ 7 she trumpeted back. She saw
a blue uniform making its way from the back of the
hall. "I made the charge ; but there's not a man nor
a woman here in the hall would not have made the
charge as readily if he caught her as I caught her de-
spoiling a convent chapel here in New York. A nun !
Indeed, she's no nun. La Malquerida they call her
a Red of the reddist, never nearer to a convent than
when she might have gone begging from the good sis-
ters in Madrid. And after they of their charity fed
her, she turns up now to revile their name."
She turned suddenly and fiercely on the woman be-
side her.
"Speak up now ! Tell these people who you really
are ! Tell the truth and shame the devil for once in
your life/' she insisted, lifting her cane. "Out with it
now ! The whole story !"
"She speaks true," said the frightened Communist.
"I wasn't no nun. I don' know nothing 'bout nuns.
He tol' me what to say ; he got me these clo'es," she
pointed to Senor Tirales.
The senor came forward blusteringly. "Madame/*
he said, "and dear ladies and gentlemen, I have been
falsely deceived. She does not speak the truth. That
she was a nun I truly believed. Not on an American
audience could I ever perpetrate such deceiving. What
can I do to make apology ? I am so sorry, so hurt to
think that I have been misled. What can I say ?"
264 HERSELF :
"Indeed, I'll tell you what you can say," responded
Mrs. Crowley doughtily. "You can retract the bare-
faced lies and the slimy allegations you have been mak-
ing against the Catholic church. That's what you can
do. That's what you can say.
"A-ah, no matter/' she tossed her head disgustedly
as Tirales again began to back away, "I'll speak for
you. Fll make answer to you. What you people
need/' she turned to the audience, "is to hear a few
plain blunt facts. Intellectuals are you ? Well, now
isn't that nice. You all of you can read, I've no doubt,
and write a fine hand and talk highbrow talk among
yourselves until the cows come home. You're the
brainy people of this country, the educated people.
Bah ! No more than Epaminondas you haven't the
sense you were born with. You never heard of Epa-
minondas, Fll be bound. No, I didn't think so.
Well, in the days when I went to school we all knew
about him. We weren't so much bothered with
-ologies and -isms and a lot of fancy nonsense in those
days. We stuck fast to the three *R's' and to good
old-fashioned stories with a moral to them.
"Ill not tell you Epaminondas' story. You can go
and pay a high price for an antique McDuffey reader
and find out his story there. But I'll tell you this
much, there was this about Epaminondas he hadn't
the sense he was born with. And that's the remark
I'm applying to you.
"Sitting there, the foolish lot of you, with your de-
grees from this place and your degrees from that, born
Americans the better part of you, no doubt although
it gives me shame to acknowledge it ; and still fools
enough to be drinking in age-old lies that the heathen
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 265
Paynim himself knows wouldn't hold water. Ready
to listen to this this Maria Monk here.
"Faugh on your intelligence, when in your arro-
gance of mind you let yourself be the dupes of a man
who would put forward a notorious street thief in the
holy garb of a nun to tell you falsely rotten tales of
convent life. Where are your intellects ? Where's
the intelligence in that ?
"You've a right as Americans to believe as you think
about Spain ; but as Americans you have no right to
sit idly there and listen to an attack upon God and His
holy Church^ under the guise of a plea for American
democracy. Freedom of speech, would you say ?
Then I'm with you in that. I've sat here listening to
speech as free as ever I heard in my life, free of the
truth as well. And now it's my turn for a little free
speech, and I'll give it to you."
Tirales and the chairman of the meeting were argu-
ing and gesticulating wildly to the patrolman who had
made his way to the stairs of the platform. La Mal-
querida, however, made no move to escape to them.
She leaned cowering against the speakers' stand, her
wild eyes staring frightenedly at Mrs. Crowley. She
had no fear of the law, and nothing but contempt for
its processes and its servants ; but from Mrs. Patrick
Crowley she shrank in utter dread. Her chastisement
outside the convent had had an even greater effect
than Mrs. Crowley had anticipated. Mrs. Crowley
was the one person in the world of whom La Mal-
querida was thoroughly scared.
"Keep your post there until you're needed," Mrs.
Crowley called out to the patrolman, "and let none
of these vagabonds leave the hall. When I'm well
366 HERSELF :
finished with what I have to say Fll give you any au-
thority and any explanations you need."
Her manner brooked no objection. The police-
man blinked rapidly, and decided that humoring the
old lady for a bit would do less harm than crossing her,
,and the confused spitting speech of Tirales and the
^chairman had nettled him. He did not like to be
sprayed upon. He glared at Tirales contemptuously,
.and flicked the peak of his hat with his nightstick to
Mrs. Crowley. "Okay, ma'am," he rumbled. 'Til
take a chance on you."
His uniformed support and the force of Mrs. Crow-
(ley's personality, never so dominant as when she was
.angered, stilled growing restlessness in the audience.
"Now," she began again, "I want this clearly under-
stood. I came here to a meeting that I supposed
.and I had a right to suppose from the posters outside
was to uphold the ideals of American democracy.
But have I heard a thing about that ? I have not !
All I have heard is a whole lot of balderdash about the
.dangers of Fascism and the glories of Communism,
and vicious and vile attacks upon God and His
Church."
"She's Cat'lic. Don't listen to her. The priests
tell her what to say." Tirales shrieked frantically over
the barring arm of Patrolman Francis Xavier Tierney.
It was a grievous error of judgment. The vice presi-
dent of the Police Department Holy Name society
had been a little uncertain about the business of the
nun. He had been too far back in the vast Garden to
hear and understand all that had gone before Mrs.
drowley's vigorous appearance on the scene. He let
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 267
out a roar now that left no doubt where his sympathies
lay.
Mrs. Crowley's sharply rapped stick called him to
attention. She wanted no interruptions, no matter
how friendly.
"Indeed, I'm a Catholic/' she trumpeted forth.
"So was the man who discovered this country a Catho-
lic, and he sailed with the blessing of Father Perez
under the banner of Catholic Spain. So was Charles
Carroll of Carrollton, and Daniel Carroll and Thomas
Fitz Simons, signers of the Declaration of Independence
and the Constitution that established our democracy.
So were my husband and my father, who fought in the
Civil War to preserve our Union Catholics ! So
was my boy who died in our own War with Spain
as a Catholic and an American he gave his life for his
country.
"The priests did not tell him when he volunteered
that it was wrong to fight against Catholic Spain. And
no priest tells me or has ever told me what to say or
what not to say. I speak my own mind always /
"I speak it now, and as an American. Never mind
my Faith. As an American I tell you plain that I hate
Communism with all my heart and mind and soul,
and I hate Fascism and Nazism just as fully and heart-
ily. You cannot hate the one and cherish the other
and stand forth as a good American. I hate every-
thing that doesn't give a free people the right to free-
dom of thought and speech and act and freedom to
worship the God who made them. That's what I
hate.
"The whole world seems to have gone mad, and
268 HERSELF :
upon my soul, you as educated, intelligent people are
doing little to stem that madness. As Americans, why
don't you stick up for American ideals ? Why don't
you use your God-given brains to make the glories of
democracy and republican government better known ?
This business of railing against one foreign system and
secretly leaning toward another is treachery to your
country. Don't waste your education and your learn-
ing in supporting anything but Americanism. Com-
munism and Fascism ? A plague on both their houses !
Up the republic ! Up democracy ! Stick by Wash-
ington ; and better still, stick by Lincoln. Then 'gov-
ernment of the people, by the people and for the
people shall not perish from this earth/ "
She stood a moment in silence. The audience was
still and unresponsive. She heard the soft quick pat-
ter of gloved hands behind her. She knew gratefully
that the Duchess of Oxbridge was rallying to her.
Then suddenly Patrolman Feeney, clearing his
throat, gave a shouted "Hurr-OO." As at a signal,
the people massed before her broke into roaring shouts
of approval.
"Oh, but you were splendid/' the Duchess of Ox-
bridge patted her arm affectionately, as Feeney, holding
back the press of men and women on the stage, let
them slip away down the long passageway. "I never
could have got up there and spoken like that. How
on earth did you ever think what to say ?"
Mrs. Crowley chuckled. "Don't give me away/'
she said. "You won't, I know. But a good part of it
was from the speech that our Monsignor gives on all
patriotic occasions lately back home. Fve heard it so
many times now I almost know it by heart. The
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 269
priests didn't tell me what to say, but I must confess I
used a good part of the words of one of them. And
why wouldn't I," she said decisively, "in the shadow,
you might say, of Father Duffy's statue ?"
CHAPTER XI
E RAIN had much to do with It. May
Day over, the rains began. Of all May
storms in the memory of the oldest New
Yorker the constant daily downpour in
this year of grace was by far the most vio-
snt and the most long continuing. It was to ordinary
rain storms as the Blizzard of '88 to a scattered flurry of
snow, as the Big Wind to a gentle spring zephyr.
It rained and rained and rained. If it had let up for
an hour each day, Mrs. Patrick Crowley might have
curbed her restlessness. It did not. For a week the
sky was gray with sullen streaming clouds, and it was
impossible to venture from the convent without get-
ting wet to the skin, before you might as much as
cross the sidewalk to a waiting taxicab.
Mrs. Crowley was up betimes each morning that
week to scan the sky impatiently. Invariably she had
to admit that there seemed little chance of a let-up,
and that it would be courting her neuralgia to go abroad
in such weather.
Her helpless inactivity wore upon her so strongly
that at the end of the third day of the storm she baldly
announced to Maria that she would be good and ready
to go home to Millington anytime anyone said the
word.
"Fm fed up with this place, and the rain/' she said.
**I know I counted on staying longer, but only a fool
never changes their mind. I don't know if it's the
weather altogether, but I must say I'd give a good deal
270
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 27*
to be back home in my own snug little house. When
all's said and done, there's no place like your own.
"I'd like the good of my own bed. I have a great
hankering for my own mattress. And Fm tired of
eating somebody else's cooking. I'm used to my own.
It's not that they don't know how to cook here in
New York. They do ... in a kind of a foreign way.
It's all right for a change, but Heaven relieve me from
New York cooking for a steady diet. Clam chowder
filled with tomatoes, and baked beans out of a can,
and no home-made bread to be had for love nor
money."
"I was thinking of that," answered Maria medi-
tatively, "about the bread. John can't stand baker's-
bread, and of course the girls wouldn't have the time
to bake. It's been on my mind in the last few days
whether or not John was eating right Theresa and 1
Mary are both handy around the kitchen, but the meals-
they'd get up would be fancy salads and the like
and John, I know, would rather sit down to something;
hearty. You're right, Abbie. Maybe we ought to be
thinking of starting back."
"I think so," said Mrs. Crowley. "After all, you 1
know what they say "New York is a great place to*
visit but I'd hate to live there/ I guess there's more
truth than poetry in that. At our age anyway, Maria.
I've had a good time the time of my life, indeed
but I'm more than ready to call it a day."
"You wouldn't miss the opening of the revue,
though, would you ?" asked Mrs. Killoran. "I sup-
pose we'll have to stay on for that."
"We will not," Mrs. Crowley spoke positively.
"The show will have to open without me. The way I
272 HERSELF :
feel now I won't stay a day longer than I have to. Fm
really itching to be gone."
"Well, there's no one holding us. But we ought to
set aside a day or so to make our decent farewells.
People have been so nice to us it would hardly look
right to pop off without saying good-bye to them all/'
"Yes, and that reminds me, Maria. We did prom-
ise to go for dinner some night with Mrs. Klotz.
Well have to go through with that. I've a mind to
ran downstairs and call her up, and ask her if tomor-
row night would be all right. Then we could leave
by the end of the week. For it come over me while
we've been talking that the May procession is next
Sunday. I wouldn't like to trust the decorating of
Our Lady's altar to anyone but myself. Aggie Kelly
could never do it, nor Mary Ellen either. If I do say
it, they haven't got the taste. I should have thought
of the May procession earlier. Father Will would
never forgive me if I wasn't home for it. I'll bet the
poor man is distracted wondering how he'll ever get
things arranged with me all the way down here."
Once Mrs. Crowley had made up her mind, it set
that instant in a firm unyielding mold. Her deter-
mination, once fixed, became as adamant as the granite
of the Millington hills, no matter what she might say
about only fools not changing their minds. That was
for the other person, not for herself.
So despite the mournful wailings of Sor San Diego,
and the sorrowing regret of Mother Saint Brigid of
Ireland that she and Maria should end their visit so
soon, she began at once to make preparations for de-
parture. Our Lady's altar was calling her, she an-
swered all objections. No one else could make a
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 273
satisfactory job of its decoration. Aggie Kelly had
some fine ideas about placing the candles that she had
learned at the Newport Cenacle, but Aggie was no
hand with flowers. Mary Ellen was willing enough to
help, but she had no ideas of her own. Irmengarde
Hickey, at a conference in Mrs. Killoran's room, was
tactless enough to suggest that Constance Casey might
be called upon, if that would save Mrs. Crowley and
Maria from rushing home so quickly.
That was the last straw. Maria knew well that in
Mrs. Crowley's mind was a lurking suspicion that Con-
nie might try to do that very thing ; and between Con-
nie and Mrs. Crowley little love was lost. Connie's
efforts since her return from studying with the Mes-
dames in France and Rome to take over the man-
agement of such parish affairs from the hands of feeble
old dodderers like Mrs. Crowley was a sore spot. Maria
rushed into the breach at once. "No, I think we really
must go/' she said placatingly before Mrs. Crowley
could speak. "We don't want to wear out our wel-
come. If we stayed much longer, we might be told
'Here's your hat. What's your hurry ?' "
"Now. Now. Was that a nice thing to say?"
Mother Saint Brigid said reproachfully. "You know
how welcome you are here, and always will be whether
for little or long. We haven't much here, but you
know that the Sisters and I feel that you should think
of our convent as your New York home/'
"We can always come back," answered Maria, and
mischievously smiling at Irmengarde, "and we'd come
running if a little bird came to us with certain news,
wouldn't we, Abbie ?"
Mrs. Crowley decided to overlook Irmengarde's im-
274 HERSELF :
pertinence in suggesting that a fly-away like Constance
Casey be entrusted with the Old Parish May pro-
cession. "Yes, we would/* she said significantly ; then
as she saw Irmengarde's face redden, her eyes light-
ened.
"Hold out your hand," she said sharply. "No, not
that one. The other the left A-a-ah I" she ex-
claimed. "I thought so." She reached over and switched
on a lamp. Its light was caught at once by the glit-
ter of the white stone on Irmengarde's ring finger.
"Oh, my," Mrs. Crowley cried. "That's a beauty.
It must be all of a full carat. Indeed, that's no chip
diamond. That's a beautiful stone, that is. And
don't you like the setting, Maria ?"
"I like the stone and the setting but the girl and
boy most of all. Come here and let me kiss you, dar-
ling. Pm so pleased." Maria drew Irmengarde to
her, and then Mother Saint Brigid reached over and
kissed her ; nor was Mrs. Crowley too far behind. The
girl might never be a favorite of hers ; but she felt the
instant rush of affectionate sympathy that a woman
married feels in the presence of a future bride.
"And after all is said and done," she chuckled to
herself, delightedly, "it was by myself the match was
made. It was through me they met, and me that
egged them on. Maria helped, of course, but the
initiative was mine. How Mary Ellen's eyes will shine
when I go over the whole story to her."
She spread about the room the same beaming look
of supremely satisfied accomplishment that Brian Boru
must have had when he heard the Danes were fleeing.
Maria smiled to herself as she caught the beams of the
Crowley radiance. She knew the triumph Abbie was
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 275
feeling; and that Irmengarde, in providing that tri-
umph, would find a warm spot in Mrs. Crowley's
heart now, and forever. She lowered an eyelid at
Mother Saint Brigid, as Mrs. Crowley, becoming very
businesslike, began to interrogate Irmengarde sharply.
"Is your hope chest filled yet, mavourneen ? It's
well to have enough of everything. Have you your
linens gathered yet ? Sheets and pillowcases and table
cloths and napkins ? You ought to have at least six
of everything in bed linen, twice that in pillow slips.
And handkerchiefs ? Fifty handkerchiefs is what they
say. We must get uptown before I go, and see what
they're carrying in the stores."
"She has her dishcloths hemmed/' said Maria, al-
lowing herself an impertinence, her tongue in her
cheek.
"Oh, dishcloths !" Mrs. Crowley dismissed them as
negligible. "No, but we must see that she has a good
supply of towels. Glass towels for the kitchen as well
as towels for the bath. I don't suppose you've picked
out your bathroom color scheme yet, so those could
wait. But we should be getting to work on the kitchen
towels and on the table linens."
"Have a heart, Abbie !" Mrs. Killoran called out.
"Has she her color schemes chosen ?" she threw out
her hands helplessly to Mother Brigid. "And the girl
just this minute showing us her ring."
Mrs. Crowley disregarded the interruption. "I've
just been thinking. I have some guest towels put
away in my drawer at home that I've never taken from
the tissue paper, all hand worked. I'll send them on
to you, Irmengarde, when I get home. I'll have to get
busy with my needle, I can see that. I've wasted time
276 HERSELF :
as it is. September will be here before we know it.
Never mind. If the rain clears tomorrow well go
uptown together and do the stores. There'll be lots
of pretty things we can buy/' She nodded her head
at Irmengarde significantly, lest the girl might not fully
understand that the pleasure and the privilege of mak-
ing the purchases would be all Mrs. Crowley's.
She would have kept on chatting indefinitely, about
the plans she had and would have for Irmengarde's
dower chest ; but Maria was afraid that too much gos-
siping might break the spell of shy happiness cloaking
Irmengarde since she had told her great secret and dis-
played her ring. She hastily reminded Mrs. Crowley
that the afternoon was drawing to a close, and that
they were due at the Klotz 7 apartment for dinner. It
was almost time to dress and get ready, Mrs. Klotz
had assented so joyfully to having them to dinner at
once, with so little time given her for preparation, that
they must not disappoint her, but be on time to the
dot
Sam Klotz' eager shining face was anxiously watch-
ing for them through the glass panel of the shop door.
He was outside in a moment, locking the shop, and
rushing forward to escort them to the apartment en-
trance way just beyond. He pressed the signal buzzer
above the mail box furiously to let Becky know that
her guests were arriving. She met them with vo-
luminous welcome at the head of the stairs.
"Come in. Come in," she cried with great gestures.
"Take off your things. Sammy, help the ladies with
their things. You didn't get wet? All day was I
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 277
worried that it should be raining. Such weather.
Such damp and so cold. In the kitchen was warm,
but not the dining-room and the parlor. So I had by
five o'clock Sam bring up the oil heater from the shop,
and now is all nice and warm everywhere. Sammy,
don't stand there so stupid like an ox. Take from the
ladies their things to put away. Hang them up, Sammy,
in the closet of the bedroom. Hangers I have left
there already. So they should dry nice. And the
umbrellas, Sammy, in the bathtub. Come this way
down the hall to the parlor. In two shakes the dinner
will be ready, but first there must be the glass wine.
You don't mind the glass wine for the appetite ?
Good. So soon as Sammy comes, the wine we'll have,
so we won't mind the weather. Take there a seat.
Nu, nu ? Mrs. Crowley, that chair should be too hard.
By the table is a good soft chair. Now I go look just
once at my oven. Hurry up, Sammy, to give entertain-
ing to the ladies."
She was back again, flushed and warm from the heat
of the open oven ; but, her enveloping apron gone,
now shinily resplendent in a gleaming black satin dress.
She followed beaming with happiness in the footsteps
of her husband with a heaped-up plate of little cakes
to be nibbled with the wine.
"Harnantasche, even if it is not the Purim," she
beamed. "You like, Mrs. Crowley, didn't you tell
me ? So I made them special from my Purim receipt.
With the wine they go good. Is our own wine, so
don't be afraid. Raisin wine. I make it, myself.
You like it?"
"It's very pleasant tasting/' smiled Mrs. Killoran.
2j8 HERSELF :
"I am used to it," acknowledged Mrs. Crowley pleas-
antly, "well used to it. Jake brings me a bottle as a
Passover present every year, Maria, you know/'
"And who is this Jake?" Sammy spoke up wag-
gishly. His wife frowned at his impertinence, but
Mrs. Crowley was not listening. Her attention had
been caught by an old-fashioned framed photograph
standing on a side table by a seven-branched brass
candlestick.
Mrs. Killoran answered for her. "He's a great friend
of Mrs. Crowley 7 s. It was he who really made it pos-
sible for her to come to New York. We're all very
fond in the Old Parish of Jake Rubinovitch."
She turned her gaze away from her host and hostess
as she spoke Jake's name ; for Mrs. Crowley, still
scrutinizing the old photograph, at that moment called
her attention to it.
"Did you mention Jake Rubinovitch ?" Mrs. Crow-
ley exclaimed. "Now isn't that odd ? I was trying
to make out who that boy in the picture reminded me
of, and I couldn't place the likeness. Of course !
He's the image of young Mordecai Rubinovitch when
he was growing up. You'd almost think, Mrs. Klotz,"
she turned about, remembering her manners, "that it
was taken of Mordecai at his confirmation why,
what's the matter ?" she cried, startled. Becky Klotz
was rocking back and forth in her chair, wringing her
hands, her mouth open helplessly, great tears running
from her glazed, frightened eyes ; and Sammy, turned
to marble, sat with white, drawn cheeks and the same
odd look in his eyes.
"Speak to me. Mrs. Klotz ! Mr. Klotz ! What's
wrong ? What's the matter ?" she cried, rising from
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 279
her chair. But Maria was before her, on her knees,
holding Becky's hands and comforting her with soft
soothing words.
'It's all right/' said Becky with quivering lips at last.
'It's all right. I feel better now. Yes, I feel good,
Sanimy. I can talk now. I got over my shock. Maybe
I'll cry some more, but don't matter. I got to ask
the questions anyhow, Sammy. Don't stop me. I
got to ask the questions even if it don't meaning
nothing."
''Becky, Becky," implored her husband. "Maybe,
it is better not. You shouldn't excite yourself. It
is only by coincidence maybe. Don't get too sure,
Becky. Momma, don't wish so hard, Momma."
"I'm all right, sure thing," Becky smiled through
her tears. "See now how I ani calm ! Mrs. Crow-
ley again say that name those two names. Please
please, say them over."
"You mean Jake Rubinovitch. And and Mor-
decai."
"So, Sammy, was two great names in our family.
Always a Mordecai, always a Jacob. This little boy,
he was named for who you wouldn't know, Mrs.
Crowley, I don't suppose."
"Why, yes, I do. I do know. He was named for
his grandfather. I know who all of Jake's children
were named for Mordecai and Hyman and Esther ;
yes, and Nathan Cohen's wife, too, that was Rebecca,
the oldest girl. Yes, indeed, Mordecai was named for
his grandfather."
"Live then a thousand years," cried Mrs. Klotz, lift-
ing up her hands to press them against burning cheeks.
"Sammy, for his grandfather was the boy named
280 HERSELF :
and called Mordecai. And the girls, Mrs. Crowley ?
Speak quick such sweet sounds I never heard. And
the girls, Mrs. Crowley ?"
"Tssk, tssk ! Nu /" Sammy put his arm about his
wife's shoulder and tried to calm her.
"Let me see. Esther that was for the grand-
mother, Jake's mother, and Rebecca she was named
for his sister, just as Hyrnan was called after Jake's
brother."
"You know surely that this was so ?" Sam spoke
pleadingly over his wife's shoulder.
"The reason I know, is that Minna that's Jake's
wife always complains, foolingly, that she had no
voice in the matter," answered Mrs. Crowley seri-
ously. "Tell me, Mrs. Klotz, why are you so affected
by the names ? I know Jake so well I might be able
to help you, if it concerns you and him."
"Mrs. Crowley, one more question, please. Then
I will speak everything. I know now. I do know,
Sammy ! You can't tell me different. Nobody can
tell me. I know. I only need to ask one more ques-
tion, and already I got the answer. Mrs. Crowley,
please was from Minsk, little Jacob come ?"
"Minsk ? No. Not Minsk." She saw with hor-
ror that all the bright eagerness was leaving Becky's
trembling cheeks. She rushed on hastily, "Wait a
minute wait a minute. There is something about
Minsk. Wait, wait, wait / I have it yes, Minsk.
Mrs. Klotz, he was born in a little village Minsk.
That's right. It was from Wilna he came to this
country, but Minsk was where he was born. That
was where the massacre was."
"The pogrom ! The pogrom at Minsk she knows
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 281
it, Sammy ! And my little Jacob did escape. My
own Jacob. I knew it, Sammy ! Always in my heart
I have known it. When my brain was telling me it
was foolish to keep on looking, my heart didn't say so.
I knew it, yet. I Icnew it !"
"Tssk, tssk," murmured Sammy, smoothing her hair.
He had a faint happy smile now. Becky's eyes were
like stars.
She spoke now in a quiet earnest voice. "Don't
think too much shame of me, dear ladies. You can't
guess what you have been telling me. All alone in the
world I thought I was, only for Sammy. And now I
have a brother, again niy little Jacob. Who was I
before I stepped under the canopy? I was Rebecca
Rubinovitch, and Jacob is truly my brother. That
picture you say looks like the little Mordecai, who but
my Jacob at his Bar Mitzvah. The only thing I saved
when the house was burned in the pogrom. I snatched
it up when I ran out of our house. I don't know why
only that it was new, and of my love for Jacob.
Our mother was dead, and I was little mother to Ja-
cob. I have seven years more than he has of life.
"I ran from the house that night to find Jacob who
was at schule, but Reb Solomon's house, yet, was
burned too when I got there. I hid away all that night
in a haystack from the Cossacks and the next day I
had no family. My father they took and Hyman, our
big brother ; and they never canie back. They died
in the prison. I found out that, but nobody could
tell me of my little Jacob. I knew he was alive.
Nothing could tell me different. I wouldn't believe
it. I knew it wasn't true he could be dead. My Ja-
cob was alive if only I could find him.
282 HERSELF :
"I left the village when it was long enough for
Jacob to have found his way back. I left word wher-
ever I should go, so that he should always be able to
find me, I went to Warsaw and worked there until
the War, looking for Jacob all the time. Then, with
the War, it seemed no use. I come here, me and
Sammy. In Warsaw we met and married together.
And always in this country have I watched the Jewish
papers ; and gone to synagogue, to sit in the balcony,
always watching, watching. Even to reformed syna-
gogue I have gone but no good. Sammy, too, he is
looking all the time. And now, at last you have found
my Jacob for me."
The more Becky and Mrs. Crowley talked together
the more convinced they were that Jake was indeed the
lost brother. Maria and Sammy were as equally cer-
tain, when Mrs. Crowley unfolded the tale of Jake's
early life as he had told it to her over the years of their
long acquaintance. Reb Solomon, at the first word
of the approach of a Cossack band, had dismissed the
schule and sent the boys to hide in the fields. Flat
on their stomachs in the quivering grain, they had seen
the smoke rise from the burning houses, and heard
the hoarse shouting of the soldiers and the shrieking
lamentations of the women. Jake had squirmed and
twisted through the corn to the roadside as the troop-
ers marched away, and had recognized his father and
brother in the line of stumbling prisoners herded on
by the hissing knouts. He had followed the Cossacks*
trail as long as he could, slipping from one field to an-
other behind them, and skirting warily through the
woods that, beyond the village, closed in the highway.
For two days and nights, without food, his only drink
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 283
water from a muddied brook on the first day and from
a stagnant pool on the second, he followed the soldiers
and their prisoners, praying with all the desperate sin-
cerity of a small boy that God might look down upon
his cause and call it just ; and aid him in freeing his
father and brother. David of old, because the hand of
God was upon his shoulder, had killed the giant,
Goliath, with a single stone from his sling, and Sam-
gar, son of Anaith, with but his ploughshare as a
weapon had slain a host of six hundred Philistines.
Jacob broke forked sticks from a low-hanging branch
and tried to contrive a sling with a strip of cloth torn
from his shirt, but the twigs were dry and brittle and
broke when he forced the strength of his arms against
them. On the second day, he found a plough up-
ended in the yard by the smouldering walls of a farm-
house fired by the soldiers as they passed ; but he was
so weak from hunger, and so tired, that he could not
even turn the plough upon its side, tug at it as he
would.
He folded his arms across his face, then, and cried
bitterly, the first time he had wept. Horror and fright
and the excitement of following the Cossack trail had
stayed his tears ; but now he knew, and the realization
tore at his heart, that the Lord his God was angrier
with him than with the Cossacks. Else why had the
twigs for the sling been so unmanageable, and the
plough so heavy ?
With anguished shame he remembered how once
he had mocked and aped before his schoolmates the
twitching hands and fumbling walk of Reb Solomon,
who was old and feeble, and the many other times he
must have sinned against God and holy Israel. God
284 HERSELF :
was just, and His vengeance was upon him now. Had
he been truly good, God would have helped him free
his father. It was his fault that the Cossacks still held
him and brother, Hynian, captive.
In those bitter moments he knew that, for his sins,
Rebecca had been slain with the other women of the
village. He dared not return to the village. The
other boys who had hid in the corn, and who, like him-
self, might have escapfed, would stone him as a pariah,
and rightly so. Upon his head was the blood of the
village. It was for his sins that God had sought this
atonement. He prayed aloud with long sobbing plead-
ings that he be forgiven, and then pushed and pushed
against the plough. If it would move at all, he felt
that it would be a sign that his prayers had been heard.
But the ploughshare stayed rooted in the ground ; and
spent and exhausted at last, he fell across it and slept
hideous troubled sleep.
A Polish farmer on his way to Wilna to the market
stopped his cart to pry curiously about the deserted
farmyard. He found Jacob laying across the plough
unconscious. He was a kind man at heart, although
cunning. He carried both Jacob and the plough with
him to Wilna, hidden under empty sacks. In Wilna
he sold the plough, and apprenticed the sick and but
half-conscious boy for a sum to a cousin who was
a tailor. Rarely had the long trip to Wilna been so
profitable.
The tailor cousin was also kind, if cunning. Jacob
served out his apprenticeship with him thankfully,
happy to be hid away in a Polish household from the
vengeance of the Jews of Wilna. All Jews everywhere
in the world, he knew, had been told and were telling
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 285
their children how he, Jacob, had sinned against the
Most High God, and of the terrible way in which God
had punished his sin. For a year, even though his
spare time was infrequent and treasured, he dared not
venture far from the tailor's door, and at the distant
view of a Jewish Icaftan, he always turned and fled, or
hid himself in an alley until the danger was past.
It was not until his apprenticeship was over that
he met another Jew face to face, or talked with one.
And then, by God's lifting of his ban, the Jew he spoke
to was old Reb Solomon who blessed him and called
him "Son."
Jacob, passing the head of a cobbled alley between
two high leaning buildings, had been startled by a group
of boys that darted from the alley and raced madly ahead
of him down the street. His curiosity led him part
way into the alley. There on the cobblestones, crushed
and bleeding, he found Reb Solomon lying where he
had fallen when the boys had stoned him. The old,
old man was hardly conscious, but he seemed to recog-
nize Jacob before he died. "Jacob, my son, so you,
too, live," he smiled. "God is kind. Be a good boy,"
he said faintly and fell back in Jacob's arms.
"My Jacob, my good, good Jacob," Becky wept
tenderly, "so, too, you suffered. And all the time your
Becky was looking looking for you, and you were
hiding away from her. So foolish. So foolish ; but
so nice. It was like my Jacob, Sammy, such a good
boy he was. Only a good boy could know such suffer-
ing. My good Jacob."
"Yes, and he's as good a man as he was a boy," as-
sented Mrs. Crowley authoritatively. "I remember
saying once to Father Will that if every Jew was as
286 HERSELF :
good a Christian as Jake Rubinovitch the whole world
would be Catholic tomorrow ; and I'd like to tell that
Hitler the same thing. He's a fine man is Jake, Mrs.
Klotz, none better. You may well be proud of him/'
" Wilna," Mrs. Klotz shook her head, "why shouldn't
I think all those years to go live in Wilna, not War-
saw ? I must have seen him ; from his Becky he never
could hide. And so, after all this long, I should find
him in United States. Happy country, Sammy. What
did I tell you we should find luck here, and now such
a blessing ? Oh, I can't wait to see my Jacob/'
"Should you write him a letter or maybe he has in
his house a telephone ?" suggested Sammy as happily.
"No, no. A letter I couldn't write and say all I got
to let out even if it was as big as a book," Becky
shook her head. "And on the telephone I couldn't
talk for crying, when I should hear my Jacob's voice.
I got to see him, Sammy. Nothing should do but I
got to see him, and hold on to him, and hug him. My
little Jacob."
"I tell you," Mrs. Crowley hit her open palm with
her closed fist, spiritedly, "come down with us. Come
down to Millington with Maria and me on the Provi-
dence boat Friday night I'll wire Jake to meet the
boat. Hell only be too tickled, even if he doesn't
know what's behind it. I was going to look tomorrow
for a good present for him. I owe it to him. You'll
be the present, Mrs. Klotz," her voice rang out eagerly.
"Sammy, can I go ? I got to go, Sammy. Some-
how we can get the money that soon, Sammy/' She
turned to her guests, "This week was the rent and other
bills, and I told Sammy, Tay them all, pay them up';
so now we got to think a little. I shouldn't go down
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 287
to my Jacob with empty hands after these years
and the wife and the children/'
"Hush up I" said Mrs. Crowley sternly. "Hush up !
I don't like that kind of talk. I told you I was plan-
ning to bring Jake a present. Who are you to know
that it might not have been a gold watch and chain,
or whatever ? Well, if I bring a present I pay for it.
And Fm not a pleasant woman to cross. You're
coming to Millington with me as my guest until I turn
you over as my present to Jake. That's all about
money. Well hear no more of it."
Maria knew well that Mrs. Crowley not only meant
what she said but that whatever demurring and ob-
jections the Klotzes might offer would be overridden
before she left the flat In Mrs. Crowley's mind the
matter was settled ; Becky and Sam might as well ac-
cept the inevitable.
She spoke quickly to change the subject for the mo-
ment : "Might I have another one of those little cakes,
Mrs. Klotz ? They are truly delicious."
"Becky, the dinner !" yelled Sammy at once. "Oi 7
oi !" shrieked his wife in the same breath, clapping
her hands to her ears again. "All about the dinner I
forgot. Oi, the poor dinner. Ladies, ladies, for-
give me !"
She sank back in her chair stupefied at the enormity
of her crime, scarlet with shame, unable to move.
"Don't sit there, Becky !" remonstrated her hus-
band. "Go see if it burned ! Maybe, still is time to
save it. Go on - go look !"
Becky got up slowly and walked to the door, shaking
her head woefully, all her happiness gone. To think,
the gentle Maria could almost hear her moaning over
288 HERSELF :
and over to herself, that I should so shame myself and
my Jacob before these lovely ladies who to my family
are angels from God. Becky, at the door, turned
hopelessly around, with a "what's the use" expression
that was so completely woebegone that it wrung Mrs.
Killoran's heart. Maria leaped into the breach.
"Sit down again," she said tranquilly, leading Becky
back to her chair. "I'll go face the disaster. You've
been through enough today. I'll soon know what can
be saved. Don't you worry another minute." She
gave Mrs. Klotz a reassuring pat and went briskly and
efficiently down the hall.
"Pour me another glass of wine, Sammy," said Mrs.
Crowley comfortably, "As Maria says, 'Forget it, Mrs.
Klotz/ If it was me I'd burn a house, let alone a
dinner, to get the news you got this day. And speak-
ing for myself, I could eat these little tarts of yours un-
til the cows come home ; and ask for nothing else and
nothing better."
Becky essayed a wan smile, but she hid her face in
her hands again as Mrs. Killoran's quick returning step
was heard in the long hall.
"Mrs. Klotz, Mrs. Klotz," Maria called softly from
the door. Her eyes were twinkling and she had a de-
lighted, warming smile. "Take down your hands. I
have good news. Don't you know what you did when
you came in to join us for the wine ? Think back. . ."
Becky's hands came slowly down. She stared at
Mrs. Killoran dumbly, then a faint but growing gleam
came in her eyes. In another moment, she gave a
shrieking cry of comprehension. She hid her face in
her hands again. Her shoulders heaved. Sammy
started forward in alarm. Mrs. Killoran shook her
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 289
head at him. She knew what he and Mrs. Crowley
did not know.
When Becky lifted her head in a moment it was
shamefaced still but she was grinning in her shame.
"Sammy, Mrs. Crowley/' she had to stop to control
her giggling. "What I did was this. I turned off the
gas I-
CHAPTER XII
ARRY TOWLER let out an instant cry
of anguished protest when Mrs. Crow-
ley, during a lull in the rehearsal on
Thursday morning, blandly announced
that she was leaving New York the next
evening.
"Tomorrow night ?" he cried incredulously. "Oh,
but you can't ! You can't do it ! Why, the perform-
ance is only a week off. YouVe got to stay for open-
ing night !"
The soothing of the outraged feelings of the mu-
sician was one of the hardest tasks arising from her
decision to go. Towler met all her firmly phrased ex-
planations petulantly and grumpily. "Might as well
call the whole thing off. What's the use? We'll
head for a flop now sure. Somebody is always taking
the joy out of life. Here we had a sure thing, and now
at the last minute the whole thing's ruined. I
don't see why you should want to spoil everything."
Mrs. Crowley knew the mercurial swing of Towler's
temperament. She had seen him rise and fall from
the zenith to the nadir a half dozen times in a single
afternoon. His deep despair now amused and pleased
her, rather than worried her. She took it as possibly
undeserved but very pleasant flattery. It was nice to
feel that you would be missed. As for Towler's dark
gloom he would be all over that in the morning. Mu-
sicians were like that, she knew. Aggie Kelly's brother,
290
MRS, PATRICK CROWLEY 291
who played the clarinet, had been the same way. You
never knew when you had him ; as nice as pie to you
one minute, and ready to take a bite out of you the
next, if you said the least thing to upset him.
She was much more concerned with Saul Baron's
reception of her announcement. It would be a disap-
pointment to him, she knew ; she only hoped he would
take it well. That was the worst of these silent men.
You never knew how much you might be pleasing
them, on the one hand ; or how deeply you might be
hurting them, on the other. They so rarely let on.
And while Towler had boyishness of face and form and
action and speech, Baron, for all his heaviness and in-
articulateness, had, much more truly, a boy's heart.
That bothered Mrs. Patrick. You might well shatter
a man's heart to smithereens, and think little enough
of it fair exchange was no robbery still, you would
have to be very hard, and very cold, and very cruel,
even to wound the heart of a boy.
But Baron was instantly understanding, and search
as she would, Mrs. Crowley could find no flaw in his
sincerity. He nodded his great head sympathetically
when she unfolded the tale of her alarums lest Our
Lady's altar be adorned in a way that would do Mary
less than honor.
"Sure, you should go/* he agreed slowly. "Yes, I
can see it. It wouldn't bring us any luck, either, if you
didn't go. Certain things always got to come first, or
else we ain't no good, ourselves. When it comes to
religion, you always got to put that first. That's right,
Mrs. Crowley. Never mind what the rest of them
here will say. I know what's on your mind. Don't I
know Sister how much it means to her? If no-
292 HERSELF :
body else can fix that altar right, you got to go down
and do it. Sure, you have/'
Her heart immeasurably lightened, Mrs. Crowley
went on happily then to tell of the great boon Our
Lady had already vouchsafed to her, the prospective
reunion after so many years of Becky Klotz and Jake
Rubinovitch, her brother. Mrs. Crowley was con-
vinced that Mary had instigated the whole train of cir-
cumstances on that March night, when, in answer to
Mrs. Crowley's fervent pleas for aid, she had chosen
Jake Rubinovitch as the instrument of her intercession.
Now, because Jake had carried out her wishes so well
and had, in his humility, insisted that it was to the
Lady Miriam of the House of David all Mrs. Crowley's
thanks were really due, the Blessed Virgin had pre-
pared for him this reward.
"Next to the Irish/' insisted Mrs. Crowley, "there's
no doubt in my mind at all, but Our Lady has a special
place in her heart for the Jews outside of other races
who might be Catholics, of course. The way I look at
it is this. You take a man like Jake Rubinovitch as
good-living a man as you'd find in the Five Provinces
or the forty-eight states according to the Catechism,
as I learnt it, a man like that belongs to the soul of the
Church. At the last judgment, good Hebrew as he
is he'd really be counted Catholic. And of course,
if a sinful old woman like me knows that, then, indeed,
the Blessed Virgin is more than well aware of it.
"You don't get persecuted in this world but for one
reason to try you in the fire to fit you for the next.
And the Jews and the Irish have had cause enough to
know that. It's an old thing with them. They're not
like some of these new races that are only now just
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 293
going through with it. And if persecution is stopped
in Ireland now, itself, the reason is that the Irish peo-
ple had a chance to show Heaven how well they could
stand it. And that day will come for the Jews, don't
you fret. The old come-all-ye has it the same way
you hear it at Vespers : 'Those that are up shall be
down ; and those that are down shall be up ; and well all
be together at the Rising of the Moon/ All I'd like
before I die would be the chance to get up before that
Hitler, and that Stalin, and that Mussolini and who-
ever it is down in Mexico and tell that to them
straight to their faces. Fd get a deal of satisfaction
out of doing that/'
Baron, to whom the old lady's ventures into the un-
chartered seas of her philosophy always brought a won-
dering admiration, was almost vehement, when she had
finished her story, that no thought of the revue hold her
back for a moment. To an orphan, the thought of
the reunion of a brother and sister after so many years,
and in such wise, was truly a miracle, a sacred thing
that no mundane cause must ever threaten.
"If you were to think of staying," he said reproach-
fully, his husky voice very low, and purposely held
steady, "it would be my duty to kidnap you there, even
if it meant I shouldn't be here for my own show. Fd
do that now Fd fly you all down by airplane so those
people could meet all the quicker ; but I couldn't stand
it. I couldn't stand it to see those people meet to-
gether. When you haven't anybody of your own, you
know how these people will feel. It's all right to be
on top of the world but what good is it if there is no-
body to see you there, nobody that belongs to you ?"
Mrs. Crowley knew that feeling well. She half
294 HERSELF :
joined in his heavy heartdrawn sigh ; then she checked
herself quickly. "In another minute/' she thought,
"well both break down/' She bit her lip and tossed
back the tears forming in her eyes.
"I'm very fussy about the proper use of my name/'
she said, "and I like to be given the proper handle.
Fve always save to a very, very few been Mrs.
Patrick Crowley of Millington, I was never much
of a one for endearments ; and I've a horror of being
addressed in a foolish manner that would lay emphasis
on my age. It's all right for some people. John Sul-
livan, the Grand Army man, was 'Granpa Sullivan' to
all of the parish and it was a loving tribute ; but then
John Sullivan, if he was living today, would be a good
deal older than myself. No. For myself, I don't like
it but no rule is worth its name unless it can be
broken. You're the first and the last one to whom
I'll ever give the privilege ; but I'm very fond of you,
boy, I really am. Lean over now and give a kiss to
your old 'Aunt' Abbie."
Fritz Liebert had insisted from the first that the
transportation rights to Millington belonged to him.
He would arrange for tickets and staterooms on the
Providence boat, and see that there were enough taxis
at the convent to take care of not only Mrs. Crowley,
Maria and Becky and their trunks, bags and boxes, but
of anyone else who wanted to make the trip to the
wharf to see them off.
Mrs. Crowley eyed him doubtfully when he made
the offer ; but he seemed so innocently earnest in his
desire to be of assistance that she dismissed her sus-
picions at once. After all, it was hardly likely that he
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 295
would "be up to any tricks, much as he always liked to
tease her.
Once again she made her plans to be at the boat in
plenty of time. "A full hour is none too much lee-
way/' she told Maria, "for this time I know in ad-
vance therell be a good many people down there at
the boat to see us off. Saul Baron is coming here
with Bernadette and Fritz ; but Larry and Kay Ney
will go right to the boat. I wouldn't be at all sur-
prised from the way I saw them whispering together
if they weren't planning a serenade. I know the
boys in the band will be there my f riend, the drum-
mer, told me so and the girls and boys who do the
dancing. Indeed, an hour will be none too much time
to be shaking hands with people. I must try to re-
member that recipe for it Mrs. Roosevelt gave in the
paper, the way your hand wouldn't get too tired/'
At half past three Friday afternoon, Mrs. Crowley
and Maria were hatted and cloaked, surrounded by
their luggage, taking their farewells of the nuns in the
lower convent hall. They had just finished saying the
Rosary in the chapel with the Community for a safe
voyage. Little Sister San Diego had rushed to Mother
Saint Brigid at the first word of departure, asking that
she arrange such a service. Little Sister was weak on
North American geography ; she was certain that Mill-
ington, since it lay to the north, was in a frozen waste
of glaciers and tundras, inhabited by strange Red In-
dian tribes. Millington, itself, might be a safe place
for Dona Patricio and Dona Maria when they reached
there but who was to know what perils might not
assail them on the way.
Irmengarde was at the street window of the recep-
296 HERSELF :
tion room, scanning the street for Becky and Sammy
and for Gerald Murphy as Mrs. Crowley and Maria
shook hands in turn with each of the nuns. They
heard her give a sudden hoot of laughter. She ap-
peared at the hall door brimming over with merriment.
'Take a peek through the curtains I" she told
Mrs. Crowley. "Don't be seen. 'Milady, thy chariot
awaits thee/ "
Mrs. Crowley was nearer to the outer door. She
threw it open wide. On the street below, drawn up
in parade formation, were six hansom cabs and low-
slung barouches from the stand at the Central Park
plaza. Liebert grinned from the box of the fore-
most Victoria and raised a ribbon-wound whip in sa-
lute. Bernadette and Saul Baron smiled in slightly
conscience-stricken ease behind him.
Mrs. Crowley drew herself up, to prepare to crush
Liebert with a word; but Maria was exclaiming de-
lightedly in her ear, "What price, the Hattie B. ?
Remember on the Girl of Plymouth how sorry you
were you hadn't arrived at the boat in a hack from
Clancy's ?"
She shook her fist at Liebert, just the same ; but in
fun. "That rapscallion/ 7 she turned to Mother Saint
Brigid. "I might have known he'd be up to some
devilment. It serves me right for falling in with his
plans so easily." And whatever annoyance might have
still held on was completely swept away by Sor San
Diego's enthusiasm. So ... in such a carriage . . .
had the Infantas driven out, in Madrid. In Little
Sister's mind, automobiles were utilitarian, material-
istic vehicles, without dignity or honor. Not so should
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 297
the great Infantas of America ride forth from St. Eu-
lalia's ; but in carriages that suited their nobility. Sor
San Diego was quite ready to call Liebert blessed.
And Becky Klotz's wide-eyed happiness at going in
such style was as equally naive. Once again, Mrs.
Crowley felt happily, Liebert was hoist by his own
petard ; it was she who was scoring against him. Nev-
ertheless, she drew Gerald Murphy aside, and had him
unostentatiously examine each equipage. She was tak-
ing no further chances with Liebert' s teasing humor.
No "Just Married 7 ' signs were to drop into place behind
her as she rode.
Gerald had brought his father and mother with him.
She was delighted to meet Sergeant Murphy again, and
liked his wife immensely just the sort of woman to
take her own and Maria's place with Irmengarde when
they were back in Millington.
It was harder than she had expected to take leave of
Mother Saint Brigid and of Sor San Diego. She had
to promise over and over to write the very moment she
reached home, and to return to New York as soon as
she could for the wedding at least. Or for one of
the weddings, she commented to herself, for she was-
almost positive that Bernadette's engagement to Fritz
Liebert was not far distant.
The scene at the wharf on West Street was a repro-
duction on a smaller scale of the final sailing of the
Girl of Plymouth. Towler had selected the more ver-
satile of his musicians and organized a German band
to play all the tunes from the revue and a host of older
favorites from Mrs. Crowley's heyday. Kay Ney was
at the boat, Plante, the stage designer, and Tim Sulli-
298 HERSELF :
van, Baron's press agent, all laden with enormous
bunches of flowers, boxes of candy and bon voyage
baskets.
"You'd think we were sailing for Egypt or Ethiopia
or some such strange, far-off foreign place/ 7 Mrs. Crow-
ley said happily to Maria as they stood at the rail wav-
ing their handkerchiefs in a last farewell, "instead of
}ust going a few miles down the Sound."
"It's a nice thing to be able to make friends/' said
Maria softly, "and to have friends, and to have them
show you they like you. It makes you feel very pleas-
ant, Abbie. At least it does me."
"Well, don't think Fm made of stone/' answered
Mrs. Crowley sharply, but with a suspicious sniff that
belied her acerbity. She listened again to the faint
strains of music coming over the widening water, "I
'do think, however/' she said tartly, "that that Towler
might have used more imagination about his music.
They've been playing 'So Long, Mary' ever since the
boat started to pull out. He might at least have in-
vented a new tune called 'Off with You, Abbie' or
something like that. I feel quite out of it/' but she
chuckled as she spoke, at her own whimsy.
"Abbie, Abbie," Maria shook her head, "I declare,
I think you're tone deaf. They've been playing 'Nelly
Grey' for the last half hour. I thought that was what
had you down the mournful way they keep blaring
out that they'll 'never see their darling any more/ "
"I'm not tone deaf," Mrs. Crowley's indignation was
instant, but she relaxed at once. "I thought that's
what they were playing, and that it was meant for me/'
she said complacently, "but I just wanted to be sure
you thought so. I knew it all the time/'
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 299
It was good to be home ; the poet was right when he
said that there was no place like it. There was not,
indeed, Mrs. Crowley agreed happily as she puttered
about the rooms of her tiny white cottage a week later.
Travel was all very well in its way, it undoubtedly was
educational and broadening to see strange sights and
meet new people ; but when all was said and done the
very nicest part about travel was the comfortable feel-
ing that your own little place stood waiting to welcome
you home. She felt a pang of commiseration for the
homeless, for the men and women condemned by cir-
cumstance to wander the roads or the sea. She was
thankful that God, in His goodness, had not cast her
lot among them gypsies and tinkers and hoboes with
no place to call their own. She even felt a surge of
pity for sailors with no more of a home than a bunk or
hammock, for travelling salesmen moving from one
regimented hotel room to another through the livelong
year ; and for explorers and wild animal hunters whose
only shelter would be a wigwam or an igloo or a leaky
canvas tent.
Sure, what kind of a home could you make out of a
tent, she asked herself and shook her head with no
place to hang pictures or place the little ornaments
about that meant so much to a body ? No sort at all,
she decreed, as she gazed happily around her own
living-room. The room was filled with precious mem-
ories of those she loved : on the easel the crayon en-
largement of Patrick, a young stripling in the blue coat
and forage cap of the Ninth Massachusetts ; Dermot's
First Communion photograph on the mantel beside
his baby picture ; the lovely Belleek vase that Father
Will had brought her from Ireland ; the real oil paint-
3 oo HERSELF :
ing of a bowl of roses that Sister Felicita had done for
her, and the placque of the Sacred Heart that Mother
Theresa gave her one Christmas. Everywhere about
the room were mementoes that were dear to her. Ag-
gie Kelly had done the drawn work on her window
curtains ; Mary Ellen had crocheted the antimacassars
protecting the backs and arms of her over-stuffed par-
lor set ; the potpourri jar had been a wedding present
from Maria's mother. It was indeed home, she sighed
contentedly.
Aggie and Mary Ellen had kept the house in sur-
prisingly good order. Of course, there were a few
things out of the way. She was certain that Mary had
brought over her vacuum cleaner to do the carpets, in-
stead of sprinkling them with damp tea leaves and us-
ing the broom which was her own way, and the only
way to bring up the nap and preserve the freshness of
the colors.
But then, on the other hand, the kitchen range
looked like new. It had never had such a high gloss.
That was what it was to be young and have the
strength in your arms.
More by the same token, she realized as she thought
of the kitchen range, it was about time for a bite of
lunch. She had always enjoyed her own cooking, but
never so much as since her return. She had even been
a trifle impatient that in entertaining and being enter-
tained, she had had little opportunity in the past week
to make herself personal treats. She was happy that
today she was alone.
Mrs. Patrick Crowley was emphatically no Anglo-
phile, but like the proverbial Englishman in veldt or
jungle she made a point always of dining in state. Not
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 301
for her a hastily snatched, pick-up meal, in her apron,
eaten from the back of the stove or the oil-clothed
kitchen table. The dishes and glass in her china closet
were for her own use, not kept sacredly apart for the
impressing of 'company/
She sat down to her luncheon now with self-respect-
ing pride in her table appointments : the heavy damask
table cloth and napkins to match a gift from Katie
Sullivan, Christmas before last ; the Haviland set to
which she had treated herself when the last of her wed-
ding china, save the big platter and the tureens, had be-
come broken ; the cut-glass pepper and salts she bought
one year in Boston ; the conserve dish of Sandwich
glass that John Boyle O'Reilly had given her mother ;
and her mother's heavy silver spoons.
Her lean lamb chop chosen with especial care by
Mike Casey, the butcher, Connie's father ; the green
peas "natives' - from Ned Meehan's little garden ;
the home-baked nut-bread that Mary Shea had brought
over earlier, all had twice the deliciousness of any food
she had tasted in New York.
She was happy that no one had dropped in, she re-
flected, as she savored the richness of Mary's nut-
bread. It was the first chance she had had to be by
herself. Truthfully, she had hardly had a minute that
she could rightfully call her own until just now. She
had told Maria, laughing, that if that sort of thing kept
up much longer, the two of them would have to go
back to New York for a rest. And Maria was just as
bad ! She had been almost insistent that Mrs. Crow-
ley come over that afternoon since she had nothing
else on. Maria was so afraid that she would be lonely
after all the excitement of New York. People did not
3 02 HERSELF :
seem to understand that when you had lived by your
lone for years you sometimes prized your loneness. It
gave you a chance to get off by yourself and think.
She liked to gallivant well enough, and certainly in the
last few weeks she had gallivanted and to spare ; but
there was a time and a place for everything. You
couldn't be on the go all the time ; you wouldn't want
to, not unless you were lightheaded and foolish alto-
gether. New York was the place to sashay around in
in Rome be a Roman ; but Millington, the Old Par-
ish, Division Street, and the little white cottage at its
end were home. And home was the spot for peace,
and quiet, and content.
The New York trip had left her so much to think
about ; and yet until today she had hardly time to sit
down and go over the happy memories of the trip at
all Not to herself, savoring each remembrance to its
final longdrawn sweetness ; for she had talked enough
about the trip to others, to Father Will, and Mr. Davis
at the bank, to Aggie and Mary Ellen and Tim Sulli-
van's wife, Katie she must try to remember to tell
Tim that the young press agent at the theatre bore the
same name ; there might be a connection somewhere,
Tim's uncle, Thadie, she thought she recalled, moved
to New York and settled there long ago.
Was there anyone in the parish to whom she had
not talked of her adventures ? Hardly. She checked
them off : Ned Meehan, Dinnie and Bow Shea, John-
nie Riordan every time she entered the grocery
store, Johnnie dropped everything to come over and
discuss New York prices Paddy Dailey, the barber,
Tom Mulvey, the letter carrier ; and of course, Rever-
end Mother Theresa and the Sisters. She must find
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 303
time to go over to the convent again soon for evening
Recreation. The nuns had fairly hung on her words
last Sunday, when she dropped in after the May pro-
cession ; she had had them in stitches at some of her
adventures, and very close to tears at others.
Sister Mary Benedict, who was literary, said that
really Mrs. Crowley had had enough excitement to
fill a book ; Sister Mary Malachy sighed and said, just
hearing about it was as good as a play ; and Reverend
Mother said, determinedly, that she was going to write
that very night to Mother Saint Brigid of Ireland and
tell her that the Old Parish convent stood wide open
for her and for any of the Sisters of the Cross of
Calvary if they could ever get down to Millington.
She wouldn't wonder, she said firmly, if a chance to get
the real American fresh air wouldn't do that Sister
Santa Cecilia a world of good ; she'd be willing to
wager the poor thing would pick right up if she could
only get away from New York for a few weeks. She
had a good mind to put the matter right up to Mother
Saint Brigid of Ireland. No wonder the lassie was
peaked and poorly ; it was bad enough to have to go
through all that trouble in Spain without getting a
further taste of it on this side of the water.
Sister Mary William, who had charge of the big boys
in the St. Aloysius sodality and acted as recess monitor
at the school because she was such a firm disciplinarian,
spoke up then and said that she just wished she could
lay her hands on that La Malquerida ; she'd teach her a
thing or two, and not only her prayers.
Sister William would, too, Mrs. Crowley chuckled
softly to herself, as she stacked her used dishes to carry
them back to the kitchen to be washed, and replaced
304 HERSELF :
her napkin in its heavy silver ring. Sister William had
never lost any of her spirit since she entered the Order.
That night the little cottage was again filled with
people ; but Mrs. Crowley had had her few hours to
herself, and she was happy to have it so. John and
Maria came over with Katie Sullivan after dinner, and
Aggie Kelly stopped in after choir rehearsal at the
Church of Our Lady of Cracow.
"Really, there is so much to talk about/ 7 Maria
sighed. "But I tell John and the girls they really will
have to wait, and let it come out of me piece-meal It
drives them crazy, but I simply can't think of every-
thing all at once. I'll think of something and mention
it, and they look at me so reproachfully . . . as if I
were holding something back. It's just that it didn't
come to me."
"I guy," said John, "but what tickled me was being
down at the boat when Jake and his sister got together.
Ah, that worked out nice. The hand of God was in
that, for fair. I don't know ; but I said to Maria that
was the best part of the whole trip as far as I was con-
cerned. The Lord knows, you had more adventures
than that Pearl White girl I used to take the children
to see in the moving pictures, and if I had any inkling
of the half of them I'd have been down and dragged
you home, the two of you. But to be the instruments
selected from on high, you might say, to bring Jake
and Mrs. What's-her-name together ; that was a fine
stroke."
"You know/' said Mrs. Crowley after a pause, "did
anybody hear tell how the Sweepstakes race made out ?
Did my horse win, do you know ? Was there any-
thing in the papers about it ? It just come to me that
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 305
I never asked. It never bothered my head until this
minute"
"He won all right/" John assured her. "Binnie Boy
won. But don't feel upset that you didn't get the ex-
tra money. I think you did very well ... or Jake
did very well for you. I was saying as much to Father
Will the other night after the Holy Name meeting,
and he agreed with me. If you had had to wait to get
the full amount it's little likely you and Maria would
be in New York when you were ; and it's my firm opin-
ion you were meant to be there at that time/'
"Pooh . . . money/' Mrs. Crowley tossed her head.
"I wasn't thinking of the extra money, John Killoran.
And I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you weren't alto-
gether right in what you say. It struck Maria and my-
self the same way ; we were speaking of it coming down
on the boat. No. It's only just that I happened to
think that I didn't know about the race. Even though
my name was no longer on the horse, still it had been,
and I certainly would want him to make a good show-
ing for that very reason. I'm tickled to death he come
in ahead, and if he brought that Cohen man as much
luck as I got out of it he's more than welcome to the
extra money. I'm sure I wasn't intended to have it.
Enough is as good as a feast, say I."
"Yes, as long as you have your health and enough to
get by on, to pay your bills and look everyone in the
face, what more does anyone want ?" asserted John.
"I think I have everything," answered Mrs. Patrick
Crowley slowly, "except what I can't have no more in
this world." She sighed a moment as she thought of
Patrick and Dermot. Maria leaned over and patted
her hand. She knew what Abbie was thinking. But
306 HERSELF :
Mrs. Crowley roused herself at once from her mo-
ment's reverie, and said brightly, "And I have great awd
good friends, which you didn't count, John. It's a
fine thing to have friends. Your own, of course, are
your own. Relations are a different thing, entirely.
They are born to you. But when you get to my age,
with no one nearer than a second cousin, it's your
friends mean everything to you. I pity the man or
the woman without friends. But then, you couldn't
be a good Catholic and not have friends. It would
mean you didn't live up to your religion. For the
Commandments, themselves, all boil down to the
two : Love your God and love your neighbor. Make
them your friends.
"It doesn't matter who they are even if they're
foreigners. I certainly get along as well with foreign-
ers as well as with some of our own people. Better,
indeed, sometimes. Some of our own aren't so hot.
They could do with a lot of improvement.
"There's few of our own who could come up to Jake
Rubinovitch, or to Saul Baron or Sam and Becky
Klotz ; or for that matter, to Banker Davis, once you
get to know him. It may be I have great luck with the
people I meet ; but I wouldn't say so. I always take
everyone the way I find him, and I always find that
ninety per cent of the people you meet are all right."
"I saw something in the Boston paper this morn-
ing," said Maria slowly, "about another friend you met
on the trip. That duchess, Abbie. I wondered
should I tell you."
"Tell me/' said Mrs. Crowley, "and tell me at once,
Maria."
"She's all right, herself. It was her husband. He
MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY 307
was motoring down to Southampton to meet her boat,
and he drove his car into a tree to avoid hitting a small
child who ran into the road after a ball. He was killed
instantly, the paper said. And I suppose she was plan-
ning such a joyful reunion."
"The hand of God moves strangely/' said Mrs.
Crowley to herself slowly. "That was to happen,
whatever. He was to go. Thank God she'll never
have to reproach herself before her boy, now."
"Well/' she spoke aloud, "that's the way of the
world. Here one day, and gone the next. It's too
bad, of course ; but undoubtedly the man's time had
come. And he'll leave the memory of a hero behind
him. It's so his boy will remember him . . . always."
To herself she said, "It's so my Dermot remembered
his father. It's what I really prayed for to Mary that
night on the boat, even if I couldn't put it into words."
"A theatrical producer, a newspaper columnist, an
orchestra leader, the man in the park . . . and now a
live duchess," remarked Katie Sullivan admiringly.
"Who didn't you meet in New York ? How on earth
you managed to talk with them all beats me !"
"I always had a glib tongue," Mrs. Crowley answered
her, smiling.
"And a good heart !" interposed John Killoran sud-
denly. "That's the answer. Live and let live ; like
and get liked in return. I guy, Abbie, that's all the
world needs. If we had that, there'd be no wars.
The lion and the lamb could lie down together. . ."
"And Abbie would turn the fixing of the altar over
to Mike Casey's girl, Connie," Maria broke in upon
him teasingly.
Beneficence that intimated immediate sanctity had
3 o8 HERSELF: MRS. PATRICK CROWLEY
shone on Mrs. Crowle/s face as she listened to John
Killoran expound what she fondly believed was her
own doctrine. It swiftly changed as she caught what
Maria was saying.
"Not on your life ! Fd never do that. That chit ?
I should say not I" very emphatically declared at once
the far from saintly Mrs. Crowley.
THE END
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