But if I cried he said he
would shoot me. And I waited, and waited--"
"There, there, 'Lina; papa's going to take you straight home to
mother."
A crash followed as the door yielded, and the famous Paoli gang was in
the hands of the law.
The Steel Door
BY ARTHUR B. REEVE
It was what, in college, we used to call "good football weather"--a
crisp autumn afternoon that sent the blood tingling through brain and
muscle. Kennedy and I were enjoying a stroll on the drive, dividing
our attention between the glowing red sunset across the Hudson and the
string of homeward-bound automobiles on the broad parkway. Suddenly a
huge black touring-car marked with big letters, "P.D.N.Y.," shot past.
"Joy-riding again in one of the city's cars," I remarked. "I thought
the last Police Department shake-up had put a stop to that."
"Perhaps it has," returned Kennedy. "Did you see who was in the car?"
"No, but I see it has turned and is coming back."
"It was Inspector--I mean, First Deputy O'Connor. I thought he
recognized us as he whizzed along, and I guess he did, too. Ah,
congratulations, O'Connor! I haven't had a chance to tell you before
how pleased I was to learn you had been appointed first deputy. It
ought to have been commissioner, though," added Kennedy.
"Congratulations nothing," rejoined O'Connor. "Just another new
deal--election coming on, mayor must make a show of getting some
reform done, and all that sort of thing. So he began with the Police
Department, and here I am, first deputy.
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