byKangaroo Kelly was a happy man.
And why not? He had youth. He had a pretty wife named Nora. He had a neat little duplex on Seventh Street half paid for. He had a job he liked. And he even had more than his share of black Irish good looks.
Except, of course, for his unfortunate tendency toward steatopygia.
This malformation had earned him, as you can easily imagine, a wide variety of nicknames during his lifetime, of which ‘Kangaroo’ was by all odds the least offensive.
Yet Kangaroo Kelly had learned to ignore with lordly indifference all his colleagues’ labored attempts at humor on this subject and was therefore, as stated, a truly happy man.
His job contributed as much to his happiness as any of the other nice things he had going for him. For Kelly was lucky enough to have secured
