"Sure, if Maggie 'd lived yeh 'd 'a' been my son, Tom, 'Tell 'm I 'd 'a' married him,' she said, 'Say good-by to Mike,' she said, callin' yeh Mike that way. 'An' tell 'm I 'd 'a' married him,' she said."
Larkin shook his head. He knew better.
However, he did not go back to his boarding-house. He sat in his old place in the kitchen until she made up a bed for him in the room that was now to spare. And when Mrs. Connors had gone plaintively to bed, he dampered the stove, tried the lock of the window that opened on the fire-escape, and took up the oil lamp which she used to save gas in the kitchen.
He stood a long time gazing at the light in his hand, swaying a little, his lips twitching. He went up the hall to the door of the room and stood there, hanging his head. He blew out the light. In the darkness, he tapped on the panel and whispered—hoarsely, apologetically:
"Maggie?"
THE END
