The Washington times., 1938-09-21

Wh0n Mike SaVOrQ 1OunQ 1rlSu,
irish had no friends, no visible rel.
atiVes or means Of support and
not even o name. Very decidedly,
Irish had no exclusive ancestry.
Even his best friends-and later
in his life he could name many
of the city'S most prominent
among them-never tried to claim
that Irish was anything but a
mongrel. They couldn't because
the variety Of divergent strains in
him were too obvious.
When he grew to full stature
he was about as big as a pit bull.
dog. He had wire hair and the in
quiring nose and intelligent eyes
of an Irish terrier. He had set
ter'S tail and bowed front legs.
He was a blue grayish in color.
You can see that, If anything pre-
dominated, it was the Irish terrier
strain and that was what caused
Mike to name him Irish.
LOWLY START
Mike found him in an ashcan
Just off an alley on Third Ave. one
early morning when he was on
one of his unofficial inspection
trips of his district. Irish, then,
was about six inches long and
weighed in the neighborhood OF a
pound and was very nearly dead.
A slight tremor Of his little body
was what brought Mikes attention
to him and he walked over to the
can and lifted out the small hairy
bundle and his gray eyes went
cold with fury.
"Now, what lousy person tossed
this puppy away to starve to
death?" he asked nobody in partic-
ular. std hate to know" he ad-
mitted, because I've never COM
mitted a murder yet. Let's see
what we can do about him"
He looked down at the puppy in
his hand. He stroked its fur. He
peered into the half-closed eyes. He
lifted the puppy closer to his face.
. 1t was gasping feebly. Mike stared
at it a moment.
Then he put his mouth to the
dogs nose and breathed strongly
and regularly. He did this for
about a minute. Then he took
his lips away. The puppy's breath
ing was stronger. Its eyes were
open. He was looking at Mike
with the cockeyed stare that any
baby uses to look out on world
of which he Is scarcely conscious.
That's the boy!" Mike praised,
his eyes Sits now and staring here
and there. "Now, we'll go get a
drink. Just a little one"
It was early in the morning Of
O July day in the year Of 1925 and
that was in the full tide Of prohi-
bition and there wasn't saloon in
New York. So Mike moved into
the nearest one, Pat Leary's 1t
was, and strobe to the bar.
The bartender swabbing the i'm
maculate bar in the immemorial
gesture of all bartenders since the
days Of Alexander the Great, or
even before, nearly fell down at
the sight of his visitor.
SERVICE FOR MIR. SAVORD
eyes, Mr.. savord," he gulped,
"what'lI it be? A little brandy?
Or we have some nice champagne.
Just got q shipment. It's good
stuff. Mr.. Leary will be sorry to
learn he was not here to greet
YOU. Or I could get him for you
in IS minutes, If you'll wait that
long. Just give him enough time
to slip on his pants"
"You got a baby9" Mike de-
manded.
"I-no, I amt married"
"Well, 7 want a nipple with q
bottle on it. want some milk.
Kind Of warm. Who the he'll
threw this puppy in an ashcan?"
Puppy" the bartender leaned
over to peer. why, I bet that's
one Of Bebe's voun'uns. She was
killed yesterday. run over by a
truck. I knew she had some pup
pies.
"But I don't know the lousy
rat that threw the puppy away.
If they didn't want it around, why
didn't they kill It? Wait min
ute, Mr.. savord. I'll get that milk,
bottle and nipple. Mind the bar,
will you? I'll go over to Grady's.
They got a new baby"
He was shedding his apron as
he passed through the door. Mike
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