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appeared from behind the half-closed privacy curtain, dropping his stethoscope into a medical bag. He was as slender as he was tall, and looked even more so under the flat’s low ceiling.
    “Good day, Shanley.”
    “Dr. O’Halloran. I didn’t realize we’d be seeing you.”
    “Your uncle’s had a terrible coughing fit. Ended in a fainting spell at Callaghan’s. I happened to be across the way, sending a wire at the post office.”
    “How lucky that you were nearby.”
    “Indeed.” Doc O’Halloran smiled. The combination of his peppered temples, proper suit, and leather case reminded Shan of his da. Of course there were differences too. While Doc O’Halloran had a warmth about him, Shan’s da had been more of the logical, scientific sort.
    Uninterested in the pleasantries, Uncle Will narrowed his eyes at Shan. “You might not feel so lucky, boy, when I find out what you’re tryin’ to hide from me.”
    Shan glanced down at his hand, recalling his mission. “It’s only a record. But I wasn’t hiding it. Just protecting it from the rain.”
    “Is that so? And how would you be affording a thing like that?”
    “He lent it to me—Mr. Maguire did. For the night.”
    “With no way to play it,” Uncle Will scoffed.
    “Well, yes. But it wasn’t to play—”
    “Bring it here. Now.” The command was firm but less harsh than usual. This was typically the case around Doc O’Halloran. Maybe it was on account of the doctor’s kindness, but more likely it was due to his skillful service. When a person had something you needed, it was best to show you were worthy.
    As the doctor put on his long wool coat, readying to leave, Shan made his way toward the bed. Footsteps upstairs rattled the ceiling, and again a baby cried.
    Shan displayed the record by holding it up, but his uncle demanded he hand it over. With dread, Shan obeyed, trying not to picture the disc snapped in two.
    “If I find out you stole this, I’ll tan your hide, I will.”
    “I only borrowed it to show you, I swear.”
    “Oh? And tell me why I’d have any interest in a bloody record.”
    Shan strained to recall the words he’d rehearsed on the way home. “I’ve heard … that is, Mr. Maguire said … the performers on the record have become famous for telling jokes … and singing songs in different voices.”
    “And you think you’re going to be some grand star. Is that it?”
    Shan wanted to clarify—to merely convey that his talents could prove more lucrative across the sea—but his focus was fixed on his uncle’s hands, in dire need of a wash, gripping the record too tight.
    Doc O’Halloran stepped closer. “Is that a recording of Billy Murray you have? Ah, what a funny one he is. May I?” He held out a palm, and with only brief hesitation Uncle Will gave up the disc.
    Breathing easier, Shan said to the doctor, “He’s my favorite.”
    “As right he should be.”
    Shan started to remember the points of his speech. Though not smooth and connected, they were at least within reach. “He’s a vaudevillian. Travels about with a troupe. They perform all over America. Singing and dancing and storytelling. Even some magic too.”
    “Sounds exciting,” Doc said. “And not altogether different than the shows you do yourself.”
    “Aye,” Shan said simply.
    “Good money too, I’d bet. Over there in America.”
    Shan felt a smile spreading from the inside out. Yet under his uncle’s heavy gaze, he aimed for an even face, not wanting to appear scheming. The seed of an idea would have no chance of sprouting if stomped out by suspicion.
    “You know, Shanley. Before I go, I do have a private matter to discuss with Mr. O’Mara. If you could wait in the hall, I won’t be but a minute.”
    The request was a surprise, but of course Shan agreed and found a seat on the floor in the hallway.
    Before long, the temptation to eavesdrop became too much to resist. He pressed his ear to the door, yet heard only mumbles. Neighbors’ voices