&ldquo;Where are you goin&rsquo;, Julius? Where&rsquo;s yer blackin&rsquo; box?&rdquo; asked Patrick Riley.<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve retired from business,&rdquo; said Julius.<br />&ldquo;Did yer rich uncle die, and leave yer a fortune?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;No, but he&rsquo;s goin&rsquo; up the river to Sing Sing, for the benefit of his constitushun, and I&rsquo;m goin&rsquo; West fer my health.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Goin&rsquo; West? You&rsquo;re gassin&rsquo;.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;No, I ain&rsquo;t, I&rsquo;m goin&rsquo; in a few days, along of Mr. O&rsquo;Connor, and a lot of other chaps.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Is it far out there?&rdquo; asked Pat.<br />&ldquo;More&rsquo;n a hundred miles,&rdquo; said Julius, whose ideas of geography and distances were rather vague.<br />&ldquo;Yer don&rsquo;t mean ter live out there?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Yes, I do, I&rsquo;m goin&rsquo; on to a farm, or into a store, and grow up respectable.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t yer miss the city, Julius?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Likely I will.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think I&rsquo;d like the country,&rdquo; said Pat, reflectively. &ldquo;New York&rsquo;s a bully place. There&rsquo;s always something goin&rsquo; on. I say, did you hear of that murder in Center Street last night?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;No; what was it?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;A feller stabbed a cop that was trottin&rsquo; him round to the station house for bein&rsquo; tight. There&rsquo;s always something to make it lively here. In the country there ain&rsquo;t no murders, nor burglaries, nor nothin&rsquo;,&rdquo; concluded Pat, rather contemptuously.