‘Dave,’ it said softly.
MacKinnon felt a childlike sense of relief and well-being. ‘Fader!’
‘I changed my mind, Dave. The gendarmes would have you in tow before morning. You don’t know the ropes . . . so I came back.’
Dave was both pleased and crestfallen. ‘Hell’s bells, Fader,’ he protested, ‘you shouldn’t worry about me. I’ll get along.’
Magee shook him roughly by the arm. ‘Don’t be a chump. Green as you are, you’d start to holler about your civil rights, or something, and get clipped in the mouth again.
‘Now see here,’ he went on, ‘I’m going to take you to some friends of mine who will hide you until you’re smartened up to the tricks around here. But they’re on the wrong side of the law, see? You’ll have to be all three of the three sacred monkeys-see no evil, hear no evil, tell no evil. Think you can do it?’
‘Yes, but -‘
‘No “buts” about it. Come along!’
The entrance was in the rear of an old warehouse. Steps led down into a little sunken pit. From this open areaway-foul with accumulated refuse-a door let into the back wall of the building. Magee tapped lightly but systematically, waited and listened. Presently he whispered, ‘Psst! It’s the Fader.’
The door opened quickly, and Magee was encircled by two great, fat arms. He was lifted off his feet, while the owner of those arms planted a resounding buss on his cheek. ‘Fader!’ she exclaimed, ‘are you all right, lad? We’ve missed you.’
‘Now that’s a proper welcome, Mother,’ he answered, when he was back on his own feet, ‘but I want you to meet a friend of mine. Mother Johnston, this is David MacKinnon.’
‘May I do you a service?’ David acknowledged, with automatic formality, but Mother Johnston’s eyes tightened with instant suspicion.
‘Is he stooled?’ she snapped.
‘No, Mother, he’s a new immigrant-but I vouch for him. He’s on the dodge, and I’ve brought him here to cool.’
She softened a little under his sweetly persuasive tones. ‘Well -‘
Magee pinched her cheek. ‘That’s a good girl! When are you going to marry me?’
She slapped his hand away. ‘Even if I were forty years younger, I’d not marry such a scamp as you! Come along then,’ she continued to MacKinnon, ‘as long as you’re a friend of the Fader-though it’s no credit to you!’ She waddled quickly ahead of them, down a flight of stairs, while calling out for someone to open the door at its foot.
The room was poorly lighted and was furnished principally with a long table and some chairs, at which an odd dozen people were seated, drinking and talking. It reminded MacKinnon of prints he had seen of old English pubs in the days before the Collapse.
Magee was greeted with a babble of boisterous welcome. ‘Fader!’-‘It’s the kid himself!’-‘How d’ja do it this time, Fader? Crawl down the drains?’-‘Set ’em up, Mother-the Fader’s back!’
He accepted the ovation with a wave of his hand and a shout of inclusive greeting, then turned to MacKinnon. ‘Folks,’ he said, his voice cutting through the confusion, ‘I want you to know Dave-the best pal that ever kicked a jailer at the right moment. If it hadn’t been for Dave, I wouldn’t be here.’
Dave found himself seated between two others at the table and a stein of beer thrust into his hand by a not uncomely young woman. He started to thank her, but she had hurried off to help Mother Johnston take care of the sudden influx of orders. Seated opposite him was a rather surly young man who had taken little part in the greeting to Magee. He looked MacKinnon over with a face expressionless except for a recurrent tic which caused his right eye to wink spasmodically every few seconds.
‘What’s your line?’ he demanded.
‘Leave him alone, Alec,’ Magee cut in swiftly, but in a friendly tone. ‘He’s just arrived inside; I told you that. But he’s all right,’ he continued, raising his voice to include the others present, ‘he’s been here less than twenty-four hours, but he’s broken jail, beat up two customs busies, and sassed old Judge Fleishacker right to his face. How’s that for a busy day?’