Gallegher and Other Stories

㹰
and Other Stories, by Richard Harding Davis

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Title: Gallegher and Other Stories
Author: Richard Harding Davis
Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5956] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on September 29, 2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
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GALLEGHER AND OTHER STORIES
BY
RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
With Illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson
COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

TO MY MOTHER

CONTENTS
GALLEGHER: A NEWSPAPER STORY
A WALK UP THE AVENUE
MY DISREPUTABLE FRIEND, MR. RAEGEN
THE OTHER WOMAN
THE TRAILER FOR ROOM NO. 8
"THERE WERE NINETY AND NINE"
THE CYNICAL MISS CATHERWAIGHT
VAN BIBBER AND THE SWAN-BOATS
VAN BIBBER'S BURGLAR
VAN BIBBER AS BEST MAN

GALLEGHER A Newspaper Story
[Illustration: "Why, it's Gallegher!" said the night editor.]
We had had so many office-boys before Gallegher came among us that they had begun to lose the characteristics of individuals, and became merged in a composite photograph of small boys, to whom we applied the generic title of "Here, you"; or "You, boy."
We had had sleepy boys, and lazy boys, and bright, "smart" boys, who became so familiar on so short an acquaintance that we were forced to part with them to save our own self-respect.
They generally graduated into district-messenger boys, and occasionally returned to us in blue coats with nickel-plated buttons, and patronized us.
But Gallegher was something different from anything we had experienced before. Gallegher was short and broad in build, with a solid, muscular broadness, and not a fat and dumpy shortness. He wore perpetually on his face a happy and knowing smile, as if you and the world in general were not impressing him as seriously as you thought you were, and his eyes, which were very black and very bright, snapped intelligently at you like those of a little black-and-tan terrier.
All Gallegher knew had been learnt on the streets; not a very good school in itself, but one that turns out very knowing scholars. And Gallegher had attended both morning and evening sessions. He could not tell you who the Pilgrim Fathers were, nor could he name the thirteen original States, but he knew all the officers of the twenty-second police district by name, and he could distinguish the clang of a fire- engine's gong from that of a patrol-wagon or an ambulance fully two blocks distant. It was Gallegher who rang the alarm when the Woolwich Mills caught fire, while the officer on the beat was asleep, and it was Gallegher who led the "Black Diamonds" against the "Wharf Rats," when they used to stone each other to their hearts' content on the coal-wharves of Richmond.
I am afraid, now that I see these facts written down, that Gallegher was not a reputable character; but he was so very young and so very old for his years that we all liked him very much nevertheless. He lived in the extreme northern part of Philadelphia, where the cotton- and woollen-mills run down to the river, and how he ever got home after leaving the Press building at two in the morning, was one of the mysteries of the office. Sometimes he caught a night car, and sometimes he walked all the way, arriving at the little house, where his mother and himself lived alone, at four in the morning. Occasionally he was given a ride on an early milk-cart, or on one of the newspaper delivery wagons, with its high piles of papers still damp and sticky from the press. He knew several drivers of "night hawks"--those cabs that prowl the streets at night looking for belated passengers--and when it was a very cold morning he would not go home at all, but would crawl into one of these cabs and sleep, curled up on the cushions, until daylight.
Besides being quick and cheerful, Gallegher possessed a power of amusing the Press's young men to a degree