The guardian. [volume] (Boston, Mass.) 1901-1960, 1940-02-17
When a Man Talks
to a Cop
By SCOTT w. RYALL
g Mcclure Newspaper Syndicate.
WNU Service.

Ninth ward boasted one other
lrlshman particularly worthy of at
tention. He had rust-red hair. in
laid and overlaid freckles, the voice
OF a young bull and the crust of a
politician.
While Casey, in his rotund, brass
buttoned manner, looked after the
wards morals, his compatriot did
something for the intellect in his
stentorian blaring of headlines to
tempt those that could buy and en-
Tighten the others.
He is, will be, or was fourteen and
has built himself quite a stand on
the corner by the bank and quite a
stand-ln with the cosmopolitan popu-
lation of the Ninth ward.
''That little Mick" said Casev
periodically to Aunt Joe, the old
lady who sells pencils, "Is gonna
be a pride to the ward. Mind nv
predication, Aunt Joe. A pride he'll
be. Why he studies arithmetic at
night"
With which devastating observa-
ton he went back to his post on the
little platform in the middle of the
crossing.
He of the freckles was tersely
retailing Balkan politics. Dion
O'Shea-Dan, to you-was as pretty
a product of Erin as ever doubled
fist in an alley.
eli, JIM" he roared across the
traffic and his chest swelled visibly
at Casey's grin and the knowledge
that bystanders had heard him call
a cop by his first name.
But in summer time, when dust,
orange peels and kids Uttered the
Ninth ward sidewalks, Dan took a
vacation from his studies. Personal
economies forbade his attending
school.
With his sef-chosen vacation at
hand, he worked little later in the
evenings at his papers, gulped a
hasty supper and was on the street.
At first he found things becoming
dull around nine o'clock and was
in bed by ten. Then he discovered
that things were only dull because
he didn't know where to look for
something to happen.
With joyful fear, he was invested
with all the somber dignity of mem
bership in the Night Riders. Around
a dim lantern in the back room of
a warehouse, belonging to the pres
ldent's father, they told thrilling lies
about Indians, cowboys and ghosts,
smoked butts and cursed.
One afternoon Casey left his post
and came over to the stand.
DAN" he said softly, docs yer
paper hold the news of the robbery
last night?"
The young red-head looked up and
he forced his eyes to be very hard
as the boys had taught him. That
was the way to treat cops. Even if
Casey was different, he was still
a cop.
What robbery's that, Jim?" he
asked
He did not know that the approved
manner of treating cops was also
a marker. Casey looked at him
very keenly, did not reply but gave
a soft sigh and went back to his
post. The big man appeared very,
very thoughtful all afternoon. After
the evening rush, he pulled the plat
form over to the curb and came
back to the newsboy.
Dan" he said slowly, give me
day off tomorrow. I'd like for We
to come on spree"
Dams eyes lighted. They forgot
to be hard.
"Jeez, Jim, do you mean it?"
"Sure," said the other, laughing,
"but if we use that word 'Jeez'
again I'll slap yer konk with me
billy. And as we'll be startin' at
six to make a whoopin' day of it
ye must stay at my place the night. I"
The next day was all that Dan
hoped, with embellishments. Casey
! told jokes about everything; funny
ones. He even made Dan buy a
paper for the fun of the thing. Then
the officer gravely asked if his COM
panion would mind tagging along
while he made a business call.
Dan readily agreed and was left
in the lobby of cold, gray building
while Casey went into an office with
two uniformed officers.
When Casey came out he was very
cheerful and insisted on showing
Dan through the precinct headquar-
tiers, "for the fun of the thing" and
chuckled heartily as he softly told
of the many, many years the men in
the cells would be looking through
those bars. a
The boy was quiet as they strobe
along the streets, homeward bound.
Casey was rafting at his best. They
stopped before the steps of the gaunt
house where Dan O'Shea's mother