, during
the peach-crating season."
Rivington was nettled.
"Step into one of these saloons or vaudeville shows," said he, "with a
large roll of money, and see how quickly the Bowery will sustain its
reputation."
"You make impossible conditions," said I, coldly.
By and by Rivington stopped and said we were in the heart of the
Bowery. There was a policeman on the corner whom Rivington knew.
"Hallo, Donahue!" said my guide. "How goes it? My friend and I are
down this way looking up a bit of local colour. He's anxious to meet
one of the Bowery types. Can't you put us on to something genuine in
that line--something that's got the colour, you know?"
Policeman Donahue turned himself about ponderously, his florid face
full of good-nature. He pointed with his club down the street.
"Sure!" he said huskily. "Here comes a lad now that was born on the
Bowery and knows every inch of it. If he's ever been above Bleecker
street he's kept it to himself."
A man about twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with a smooth face, was
sauntering toward us with his hands in his coat pockets. Policeman
Donahue stopped him with a courteous wave of his club.
"Evening, Kerry," he said. "Here's a couple of gents, friends of
mine, that want to hear you spiel something about the Bowery.
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