Gallegher and Other Stories | Page 3

appearances a gentleman, he will try to look

as little like a gentleman as possible."
"No, he won't," said Gallegher, with that calm impertinence that made
him dear to us. "He'll dress just like a gentleman. Toughs don't wear
gloves, and you see he's got to wear 'em. The first thing he thought of
after doing for Burrbank was of that gone finger, and how he was to
hide it. He stuffed the finger of that glove with cotton so's to make it
look like a whole finger, and the first time he takes off that glove
they've got him--see, and he knows it. So what youse want to do is to
look for a man with gloves on. I've been a-doing it for two weeks now,
and I can tell you it's hard work, for everybody wears gloves this kind
of weather. But if you look long enough you'll find him. And when you
think it's him, go up to him and hold out your hand in a friendly way,
like a bunco-steerer, and shake his hand; and if you feel that his
forefinger ain't real flesh, but just wadded cotton, then grip to it with
your right and grab his throat with your left, and holler for help."
There was an appreciative pause.
"I see, gentlemen," said the city editor, dryly, "that Gallegher's
reasoning has impressed you; and I also see that before the week is out
all of my young men will be under bonds for assaulting innocent
pedestrians whose only offence is that they wear gloves in midwinter."
It was about a week after this that Detective Hefflefinger, of Inspector
Byrnes's staff, came over to Philadelphia after a burglar, of whose
whereabouts he had been misinformed by telegraph. He brought the
warrant, requisition, and other necessary papers with him, but the
burglar had flown. One of our reporters had worked on a New York
paper, and knew Hefflefinger, and the detective came to the office to
see if he could help him in his so far unsuccessful search.
He gave Gallegher his card, and after Gallegher had read it, and had
discovered who the visitor was, he became so demoralized that he was
absolutely useless.
"One of Byrnes's men" was a much more awe-inspiring individual to
Gallegher than a member of the Cabinet. He accordingly seized his hat

and overcoat, and leaving his duties to be looked after by others,
hastened out after the object of his admiration, who found his
suggestions and knowledge of the city so valuable, and his company so
entertaining, that they became very intimate, and spent the rest of the
day together.
In the meanwhile the managing editor had instructed his subordinates
to inform Gallegher, when he condescended to return, that his services
were no longer needed. Gallegher had played truant once too often.
Unconscious of this, he remained with his new friend until late the
same evening, and started the next afternoon toward the Press office.
As I have said, Gallegher lived in the most distant part of the city, not
many minutes' walk from the Kensington railroad station, where trains
ran into the suburbs and on to New York.
It was in front of this station that a smoothly shaven, well-dressed man
brushed past Gallegher and hurried up the steps to the ticket office.
He held a walking-stick in his right hand, and Gallegher, who now
patiently scrutinized the hands of every one who wore gloves, saw that
while three fingers of the man's hand were closed around the cane, the
fourth stood out in almost a straight line with his palm.
Gallegher stopped with a gasp and with a trembling all over his little
body, and his brain asked with a throb if it could be possible. But
possibilities and probabilities were to be discovered later. Now was the
time for action.
He was after the man in a moment, hanging at his heels and his eyes
moist with excitement. He heard the man ask for a ticket to Torresdale,
a little station just outside of Philadelphia, and when he was out of
hearing, but not out of sight, purchased one for the same place.
The stranger went into the smoking-car, and seated himself at one end
toward the door. Gallegher took his place at the opposite end.
He was trembling all over, and suffered from a slight feeling of nausea.

He guessed it came from fright, not of any bodily harm that might
come to him, but at the probability of failure in his adventure and of its
most momentous possibilities.
The stranger pulled his coat collar up around his ears, hiding the lower
portion of his face, but not concealing the resemblance in his troubled
eyes and close-shut lips to the likenesses of the murderer Hade.
They reached Torresdale