men, and, never had
the half of it.

After that my crowd was ready for anything. They forgets all about the
original proposition, and tackles anything I leads them up to, from
bumpin' the bumps to ridin' down in the tubs on the tickler. When we'd
got through with Dreamland and the Steeplechase, we wanders down the
Bowery and hits up some hot dog and green corn rations.

By the time I gets ready to lead them across Surf-ave. to Luna Park it
was dark, and about a million incandescents had been turned on. Well,
you know the kind of picture they gets their first peep at. Course,
it's nothin' but white stucco and gold leaf and electric light, with
the blue sky beyond. But say, first glimpse you get, don't it knock
your eye out?

"Whist!" says Dennis, gawpin' up at the front like lie meant to swallow
it. "Is ut the Blessed Gates we're comin' to?"

"Magnificent!" says the Bishop.

And just then Aunt Isabella gives a gasp and sings out, "Maggie!"

Well, as Dennis says afterwards, in tellin' Mother Whaley about it,
"Glory be, would yez think ut? I hears her spake thot name, and up I
looks, and as I'm a breathin' man, there sits Maggie Whaley in a solid
goold chariot all stuck with jools, her hair puffed out like a crown,
and the very neck of her blazin' with pearls and di'monds. Maggie
Whaley, mind ye, the own daughter of Terence, that's me brother; and
her the boss of a place as big as the houses of parli'ment and finer
than Windsor castle on the King's birthday!"

It was Maggie all right. She was sittin' in a chariot too--you've seen
them fancy ticket booths they has down to Luna. And she has had her
hair done up by an upholsterer, and put through a crimpin' machine.
That and the Brazilian near-gem necklace she wears does give her a kind
of a rich and fancy look, providin' you don't get too close.

She wasn't exactly bossin' the show. She was sellin' combination
tickets, that let you in on so many rackets for a dollar. She'd
chucked the laundry job for this, and she was lookin' like she was glad
she'd made the shift. But here was four of us who'd come to rescue her
and lead her back to the ironin' board.

Aunt Isabella makes the first break. She tells Maggie who she is and
why she's come. "Margaret," says she, "I do hope you will consent to
leave this wicked life. Please say you will, Margaret!"

"Ah, turn it off!" says Maggie. "Me back to the sweat box at eight per
when I'm gettin' fourteen for t