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'Greeley is back, said he, 'and I shall see him tomorrow. I will put him in mind o'you. I went away sore in the morning, but with no drooping spirit. In the middle of the afternoon I straightened up a moment to ease my back and look about me. There at the edge of the gang stood the great Horace Greeley and Waxy McClingan. The latter beckoned me as he caught my eye. I went aside to greet them.
At Dron Point you spun your pickle o' tow, and you nursed the sick folk. There is mair spinning here, and mair sick folk. You are nae waur off, but better. And it is little o' the siller I hae given you that has been spent. A' expenses hae come oot o' my pocket." "I'll no hear tell o'you going awa'! Sich daftness.
"Divil tankard the Scotch sowl o'you who do you suppose could think of a tankard, or any thing else, if what we suspect has happened? It will kill him." He then proceeded to look for Connor, whom he met in tears, which she was utterly unable to conceal. "Well, Miss Connor," he asked, "what's the matther? You're cryin', I persave." "All, Cummiskey, my mistress is unwell."
"Sure a gun's good enough for me," then, "Ole Caleb been around since?" "Old Caleb? I should say so; why, he's our stiddy company." "'Pears fonder o'you than he is of me." "Say, Da, tell us about that. How do you know it was Caleb shot at you?" "Oh, I don't know it to prove it in a coort o' law, but we quarr'led that day in town after the Horse trade an' he swore he'd fix me an' left town.
As Crowley's gratified smile wrinkled over his face and rested in emphatic creases around his eyes, he readjusted the dwarfed pipe between his sallow teeth, and Guy heard him mutter, as he leaned forward to rest the lines, while he rubbed the little shavings between his brawny hands. "Ye're a dacent mother's son, ivery inch o'you, so ye are."
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