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OldWaldorf Bar Days
his left eyelid, "I am afraid you are not teaching your
men right." The lady looked her triumph.
"All right, my dear," Boldt said to her, "I'll take care
of this. Perhaps you had better retire while I lecture
Killackey."
As soon as the lady had left the room, Boldt shook his
head after her, looked at his Wine Steward, and chuckled.
"Michael," he said to Killackey, "I think I owe you
two hundred dollars!" And Killackey got the money.
Killackey, who had.left the Waldorf before the War,
came to a tragic end some time after we had got in to
the European mixup.
Against the wishes and the efforts of his family and
his nephew, John Killackey, who had now become the
hotel's cashier, Michael had prevailed upon the direc–
tors of the Knights of Columbus to send him to France,
and he made the trip over and back several times. On
the day he was due to sail the last time, he reached
the pier after the transport had got away. A newspaper
man put him on a tug and they chased downstream
after the big vessel. Once alongside, Killackey started
to mount the Jacob's ladder, burdened as he was with
a heavy bag. Near ·the top, he missed his footing. In
his fall, he struck against the tug's rail, breaking three
of his ribs. He pounded .off into the water.
Up he bobbed, spluttering. "I'll make that blank–
blank boat yet," he cried, and struck out for her.
Sailors grabbed
hi~
and tied him about with ropes.
They fished him out, hauled him up the transport's side
and took him to the ship's hospital, where army sur–
geons la-bored over hitn.