Stump electronic books

In November he had another knock at his door.
It proved to be Mr. Dennis Moriarty, of whom we have incidentally spoken
in connection with the half-price drinks for the Milligan wake, and as
spokesman of the torchlight procession.
"Good-mornin' to yez, sir," said the visitor.
It was a peculiarity of Peter's that he never forgot faces. He did not
know Mr. Moriarty's name, never having had it given him, but he placed
him instantly.
"Thank you," said Peter, holding out his hand. Peter did not usually
shake hands in meeting people, but he liked the man's face. It would
never take a prize for beauty. The hair verged on a fiery red, the nose
was a real sky-scraper and the tipper lip was almost proboscidian in
its length. But every one liked the face.
"It's proud Oi'm bein' shakin' the hand av Misther Stirling," said the
Irishman.
"Sit down," said Peter.
"My name's Moriarty, sir, Dinnis Moriarty, an' Oi keeps a saloon near
Centre Street, beyant."
"You were round here in the procession.


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