"An' in tin minutes' time what'll matter a frozen ear or so to poor
Michael Dennin?" he asked.
She had nerved herself for the last culminating ordeal, and his
remark was like a blow to her self-possession. So far, everything
had seemed phantom-like, as in a dream, but the brutal truth of
what he had said shocked her eyes wide open to the reality of what
was taking place. Nor was her distress unnoticed by the Irishman.
"I'm sorry to be troublin' you with me foolish spache," he said
regretfully. "I mint nothin' by it. 'Tis a great day for Michael
Dennin, an' he's as gay as a lark."
He broke out in a merry whistle, which quickly became lugubrious
and ceased.
"I'm wishin' there was a priest," he said wistfully; then added
swiftly, "But Michael Dennin's too old a campaigner to miss the
luxuries when he hits the trail."
He was so very weak and unused to walking that when the door opened
and he passed outside, the wind nearly carried him off his feet.
Edith and Hans walked on either side of him and supported him, the
while he cracked jokes and tried to keep them cheerful, breaking
off, once, long enough to arrange the forwarding of his share of
the gold to his mother in Ireland.
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