“Oh，” wailed Mrs. Murphy， “’twas yisterday， or maybefour hours ago！ I dunno. But it’s lost he is， me little boyMike. He was playin’ on the sidewalk only this mornin’—or was it Wednesday？ I’m that busy with work， ’tis hardto keep up with dates. But I’ve looked the house overfrom top to cellar， and it’s gone he is. Oh， for the love avHiven—”
Silent， grim， colossal， the big city has ever stood againstits revilers. They call it hard as iron； they say that no pulseof pity beats in its bosom； they compare its streets withlonely forests and deserts of lava. But beneath the hardcrust of the lobster is found a delectable and lusciousfood. Perhaps a different simile would have been wiser.
Still， nobody should take offence. We would call no one alobster without good and sufficient claws.
No calamity so touches the common heart of humanityas does the straying of a little child. Their feet are souncertain and feeble； the ways are so steep and strange.
Major Griggs hurried down to the corner， and up theavenue into Billy’s place. “Gimme a rye-high，” he said tothe servitor. “Haven’t seen a bow-legged， dirty-faced littledevil of a six-year-old lost kid around here anywhere， haveyou？”
Mr. Toomey retained Miss Purdy’s hand on the steps.
“Think of that dear little babe，” said Miss Purdy， “lostfrom his mother’s side—perhaps already fallen beneaththe iron hoofs of galloping steeds—oh， isn’t it dreadful？”
“Ain’t that right？” agreed Mr. Toomey， squeezing herhand. “Say I start out and help look for um！”
“Perhaps，” said Miss Purdy， “you should. But， oh， Mr.Toomey， you are so dashing—so reckless—suppose in yourenthusiasm some accident should befall you， then what—”
Old man Denny read on about the arbitration agreement，with one finger on the lines.
In the second floor front Mr. and Mrs. McCaskey cameto the window to recover their second wind. Mr. McCaskeywas scooping turnips out of his vest with a crookedforefinger， and his lady was wiping an eye that the salt ofthe roast pork had not benefited. They heard the outcrybelow， and thrust their heads out of the window.
“’Tis little Mike is lost，” said Mrs. McCaskey， in a hushedvoice， “the beautiful， little， trouble-making angel of agossoon！”
“The bit of a boy mislaid？” said Mr. McCaskey， leaningout of the window. “Why， now， that’s bad enough， entirely.
The childer， they be different. If ’twas a woman I’d bewillin’， for they leave peace behind ’em when they go.”
Disregarding the thrust， Mrs. McCaskey caught herhusband’s arm.
“Jawn，” she said， sentimentally， “Missis Murphy’s littlebye is lost. ’Tis a great city for losing little boys. Six yearsold he was. Jawn， ’tis the same age our little bye wouldhave been if we had had one six years ago.”
“We never did，” said Mr. McCaskey， lingering with thefact.
“But if we had， Jawn， think what sorrow would be inour hearts this night， with our little Phelan run away andstolen in the city nowheres at all.”
“Ye talk foolishness，” said Mr. McCaskey. “’Tis Pat hewould be named， after me old father in Cantrim.”
“Ye lie！” said Mrs. McCaskey， without anger. “Me brotherwas worth tin dozen bog-trotting McCaskeys. After himwould the bye be named.” She leaned over the window-silland looked down at the hurrying and bustle below.
“Jawn，” said Mrs. McCaskey， softly， “I’m sorry I washasty wid ye.”
“’Twas hasty puddin’， as ye say，” said her husband， “andhurry-up turnips and get-a-move-on-ye coffee. ’Twas whatye could call a quick lunch， all right， and tell no lie.”
Mrs. McCaskey slipped her arm inside her husband’sand took his rough hand in hers.
“Listen at the cryin’ of poor Mrs. Murphy，” she said. “’Tisan awful thing for a bit of a bye to be lost in this greatbig city. If ’twas our little Phelan， Jawn， I’d be breakin’ meheart.”
Awkwardly Mr. McCaskey withdrew his hand. But helaid it around the nearing shoulder of his wife.
“’Tis foolishness， of course，” said he， roughly， “but I’dbe cut up some meself if our little Pat was kidnappedor anything. But there never was any childer for us.
Sometimes I’ve been ugly and hard with ye， Judy. Forgetit.”
They leaned together， and looked down at the heartdramabeing acted below.
Long they sat thus. People surged along the sidewalk，crowding， questioning， filling the air with rumours， andinconsequent surmises. Mrs. Murphy ploughed back andforth in their midst， like a soft mountain down whichplunged an audible cataract of tears. Couriers came andwent.
Loud voices and a renewed uproar were raised in frontof the boarding-house.
“What’s up now， Judy？” asked Mr. McCaskey.
“’Tis Missis Murphy’s voice，” said Mrs. McCaskey，harking. “She says she’s after finding little Mike asleepbehind the roll of old linoleum under the bed in her room.”
Mr. McCaskey laughed loudly.
“That’s yer Phelan，” he shouted， sardonically. “Divil a bitwould a Pat have done that trick. If the bye we never hadis strayed and stole， by the powers， call him Phelan， andsee him hide out under the bed like a mangy pup.”
Mrs. McCaskey arose heavily， and went toward the dishcloset， with the corners of her mouth drawn down.
Policeman Cleary came back around the corner as thecrowd dispersed. Surprised， he upturned an ear towardthe McCaskey apartment， where the crash of ironsand chinaware and the ring of hurled kitchen utensilsseemed as loud as before. Policeman Cleary took out histimepiece.
“By the deported snakes！” he exclaimed， “Jawn McCaskeyand his lady have been fightin’ for an hour and a quarter bythe watch. The missis could give him forty pounds weight. Strength to his arm.”
Policeman Cleary strolled back around the corner.
Old man Denny folded his paper and hurried up thesteps just as Mrs. Murphy was about to lock the door forthe night.