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Updated: June 21, 2025
From then on Kenny's reckless gayety kept them in an uproar. When someone clamored for a wood-fire tale he told them of Finn's love for Deirdre. But the discussion it provoked bored him and he dropped back, smoking, in his chair,
Afterward he went to tell Joan what he had done, and met the doctor on the stairway. "By morning," he nodded slowly, answering Kenny's look. "Yes, I'm afraid he'll be gone. I'd like to stay, Mr. O'Neill, for Joan's sake. But there's a baby coming over at the Jensen farm. There always is. And my duty as I see it is more with life than with death." "I'll stay with him," said Kenny. "Joan must rest."
I'm not in exile but there are times when I should be journeyin' off, as Kenny says when the brogue is on him, to Black Gartan. The curse of the Celt! Kenny swears there's no homesickness in the world like an Irishman's passionate longing for home and kin. Not that I long for the studio. God forbid! Kenny's the symbol for it all. "I've had some black minutes of remorse.
To Kenny's disgusted glance he was like the Irish Grogach of folk lore, who tumbles around among the hills with a good deal of head and a lax body without much hint of bones. Well, Brian had thrashed somebody too. There were times when it couldn't be helped. And Brian had lived in a corncrib at seven cents a day. Kenny whipped out his notebook. "One day in a corncrib:" he wrote grimly.
Why you wanted Brian to paint pictures," went on Whitaker, ignoring Kenny's outraged sputter, "when he couldn't, is and always has been a matter of considerable worry and mystery to me " "It needn't have been. That, I fancy, John, you can see for yourself. I worry very little about how your paper is run." "But I think I've solved it. It's your vanity." "My God!" said Kenny with a gasp.
Then his hand shot upwards in an avaricious clutch. The amazed pair counted the bills and departed, ever after confusing Kenny's identity with that of a famous lunatic addicted to escapes.
"That I do not," said Kenny, emphatically, and Yankee, at that word, struck his hand into Kenny's palm with a loud smack. "I knew blamed well you were not any such dumb fool," he said, softening his speech in deference to Kenny's office and the surrounding circumstances.
Kenny drove him to the Finlake station. "This car has been a godsend," he said. "And Garry's wired me to keep it. He's going to the coast." "When?" "Thursday." Kenny's eyes were moist and grateful. "Ah, Frank, darlin', you're a jewel!" "Piffle!" countered Frank. "Kenny, old dear, I think you hit a chicken. If at any time," he added at the station, "you feel the need of me, I want you to wire.
The colloquy there was distinctly audible: "Mr. Bayard Shaynon?" "'Leventh floor. Hurry up don't keep the elevator waitin'." "Ah ferget it!" Whistling softly, the man with the yellow envelope ambled nonchalantly into the cage; fixed the operator with a truculent stare, and demanded the eleventh floor. Now Peter Kenny's rooms were on the twelfth....
"You don't deserve a job," he grumbled, "turning me down for a dynamite spree, but I'm going to send you to Ireland in the fall. There's a story there a big one. If," he added grimly, "you can manage to get in." Late August found the tension of worry at an end. Brian at last was walking. And Don had fought a battle with his books and won. Kenny's spirits soared.
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