CHAPTER XVI.

THE TORMENT OF OFFICER 666.

Meantime Officer 666, on his aristocratic beat, four blocks up and

four blocks down the Fifth avenue pave, was sticking to the east side

of the street and vainly trying to keep his eyes to the front.

It was excruciating duty, with the raven-haired Rose wheeling her

perambulator along the opposite way and keeping, by way of feminine

perversity, on a latitudinal line with the patrolling of Michael

Phelan.

There she was just opposite, always, never twisting her head an inch

to give him so much as a glance or a smile. It made him wild that she

should discipline her eyes in that fashion, while his would wander

hither and yon, especially yon when Rose was in that direction.

The daintiness of Rose in cap and apron with a big white fichu at her

throat, with one red cheek and the corner of the most kissable mouth

on the avenue maddeningly visible, soon drove all memory of the

Gladwin mansion and the suspicious antics of the "rat-faced little

heathen" out of his mind. His one thought was that Rose would have to

cross over the way at the fall of dusk and trundle her millionaire

infant charge home for its prophylactic pap. There would be a bare

chance for about seven or ten words with Rose. But what was he going

to say?

For one hundred and nine days' running, his days off inclusive,

Michael Phelan had intercepted Rose at that particular corner and

begged her to name the day. The best he ever got was a smile and a

flash of two laughing eyes, followed by the sally:

"Show me $500 in the bank, Michael Phelan, and I'll talk business."

And why didn't Michael Phelan save up $500 out of the more than $100 a

month the city paid him for his services? Rose didn't get a quarter of

that, and she had already saved $300, besides which she sent a

one-pound note home to Ireland every month.

The reason was this--Michael Phelan turned in his wages each month to

his mother, and out of what she allowed him to spend he couldn't have

saved $500 in five hundred years, at least not to his way of thinking.

The trouble was that Rose had more than an inkling of this, and it

galled her to think that her gallant brass-buttoned cop should permit

himself to be still harnessed to his mother's apron strings.

Yes, down in the invisible depths of Rose's heart she was very fond of

the faithful and long-suffering Michael, but even so she couldn't

bring herself to marry a milksop who was likely to make her play

second fiddle to his mother. And when Rose once made up her mind, she

was as grimly determined as she was pretty.

The sun had swung down behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the

trees that bordered the Park wall had begun to trace their shadows on

the marble fronts of the mansions across the way when Rose suddenly

wheeled the gig containing Master Croesus and walked demurely toward

Officer 666.

Michael Phelan blushed till he could feel his back hair singeing, but

he stopped stock still and waited. Rose gave no sign until she was

within half a dozen feet of him. Then she looked up pertly and

exclaimed:

"Why, if it ain't Michael Phelan!"

"It is, Rose, an' with the same question pantin' on his lips," broke

out the young man, his bosom surging and his heart rapping under his

shield.

"And what is that same question, Mr. Phelan?" asked the tantalizing

Rose.

Officer 666 choked with emotion.

"Will ye name the day, d-d-d-ar"----

He stopped and looked round about him fearfully, for Sergeant McGinnis

was due on his rounds and Sergeant McGinnis, though married, had an

eye like a hawk for a pretty girl and a tongue like an adder for a

patrolman caught sparking.

Rose's eyes flashed and her lips drew taut. She started forward, but

turned her head to face Phelan as she walked away.

"I'll give you an answer, Michael," she said in parting, "when ye may

set up your own home for your own"----

That was all Phelan heard and possibly all that the young woman

uttered, for just then Master Croesus set up a bawl that was most

common and vulgar in its utter lack of restraint. There could be no

more to the interview that day with young Master Croesus in such

vociferous mood, so Officer 666 turned away with a heaving sigh and

plodded dolefully along on his beat.