Pat O'Dwyer looked like a heavier Jim. He had the same bullet head of curly reddish hair but he didn't have Jim's poker-faced humor or his brains or his charm. He was a big thick beefy violent man. Now Pat may have been a lecher and a plug-ugly, but he was a good churchgoing Catholic and he loved his little sister. Those O'Dwyers had that Irish clannishness that made them stick together in spite of politics and everything.

Pat took Eileen and me out to dinner at a swell steak house and told us with tears in his eyes how happy he was we had come together again. ``Whom God hath joined'' etcetera. The O'Dwyers were real religious people except for Kate. Now it would be up to me to keep the little girl out of mischief. Pat had been worried as hell ever since she'd lost her job on that fashion magazine. It had gone big with the Hollywood girls when he told them his sister was an editor of Art and Apparel. How about me trying to help her get her job back?

All evening Eileen had been as demure as a little girl getting ready for her first communion. It just about blew us both out of the water when Eileen suddenly came out with what she came out with. ``But brother I cann't take a job right now,'' she said with her eyes on her ice cream, ``I'm going to have a baby, Francis Xavier's baby, my own husband's baby.''

My first thought was how had it happened so soon, but I counted back on my fingers and sure enough we'd been living together six weeks. Pat meanwhile was bubbling over with sentiment. Greatest thing that ever happened. Now Eileen really would have to settle down to love honor and obey, and she'd have to quit drinking. He'd come East for the christening, by God he would. When we separated that evening Pat pushed a hundred dollar bill into Eileen's hand to help towards a layette.