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Kenny went through the dark hallway to Adam's room with cat-like tread, the searchlight that had been a part of his road equipment in his pocket, a bag of wood-ash, purloined the day before from Hannah's kitchen, and the battered box tucked unobtrusively beneath his coat. He locked himself in and drew a long, gasping breath of intense relief.
Hannah says there must be money enough in Uncle's estate for that." "Where," said Kenny, his heart cold, "would you go?" "I thought," said Joan demurely, "that perhaps I could study in New York where I wouldn't be so lonesome." He caught her in his arms. "Heart of mine!" he whispered. "You thought of that." "Then," said Joan, "I can learn something of your world before I become a part of it.
You're beginning to melt." Joan's eyes opened wide at the sound of her name. Ann laughed and pinched her flushed cheek. "My dear," she said drolly, "I know more than your name. Kenny sent me a letter of measures, spiritual, mental and physical that would turn Bertillon green with envy. If ever you default with all the foolish hearts in New York I'll turn you over to the police.
The one who really all but witnessed it is here, close at hand. You might like to hear his version of what happened." She rang the bell and asked the servant who came in answer if Mr. Kenny was waiting. Patsy was Mr. Kenny even to the new butler. Patsy came in, small, neat, in his gaiters and riding breeches, his cap in his hand.
I know the best way over." "Professional jealousy!" retorted Kenny, his eyes droll and tender. "I suppose you belong to the ferryman's union." He dropped his knapsack into the boat and busied himself with the painter. "If the boat had two oars," he told her laughing, "or I one arm, I know I could manage. As it is, one oar and two arms "
I am sure I heard the front door close before I dropped off to sleep. Don't fidget, Kenny. They've probably got old Martin in the calaboose by this time. Mother never fails when she sets out to do a thing. That good-for-nothing sleepy-head, Hattie, never heard a sound last night. What a conscience she must have!" He frowned at his big silver watch. "It's after five.
He grew up on the further shore to a youth in patches and then all at once the dream became a beautiful delight. The youth by a twist of woodland magic turned to a maid in a glory of old brocade. Such a maid might have stepped from an ancient tapestry to come in search of a knight of old. "Mr. O'Neill!" Kenny did not stir. He must keep the dream to the end. If he moved now the maid would vanish.
We never dared to ask him questions. And he never spoke of my mother save to sneer and curse the stage. What is it, Kenny? What are you thinking?" "I think," said Kenny, making a colossal effort to speak with the calm he could not feel, "that somewhere buried on the farm is a great deal of money. I think it belonged to your mother and that it was left in trust to your uncle for Donald and you "
Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in strossers with a buttoned codpiece, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a wand of wilding in his hand. Your own? He knows your old fellow. The widower. Hurrying to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the quayside I touched his hand. The voice, new warmth, speaking. Dr Bob Kenny is attending her.
"You're merely subject to periodic fits of indolence. You've said as much yourself." It was irrefutable. Kenny, offended, brought his fist down upon the table with a bang. "I know precisely what you're going to say," cut in Brian. "I'm ungrateful. I'm not. But it's misdirected generosity on your part, Kenny. And I'm through. I'm tired," he added simply.
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