Part 37 (1/2)

”I'll not,” says Larry. ”I'm a pauper.”

”Will you go with Shorty, then?” says Pinckney. ”At times he's as absurd as yourself.”

”He's not asked me,” says Larry.

”My tongue's drippin' with it,” says I. ”I had an own cousin come over from Kerrymull. You'll be welcome.”

”Done!” says Larry. ”And for board and lodging I'll sing you Ballyshone after dinner.”

So he did too, and if you've ever heard it well sung, you'll know the lump I had in my throat as I listened. Also I had him tell Sadie about Katie McDevitt; and when he'd made friends with little Sully and the dog we could have kept him for a year and a day.

But that Sunday afternoon, while we was swingin' out of the front gates for a walk, we stops to let a limousine whizz by, and we gets a glimpse of a woman's face through the windows.

”Lord love you, McCabe!” says Larry, grippin' me by the arm, ”but who was that?”

”In the car?” says I. ”No one but Mrs. Sam Steele.”

”Mrs., did you say?” says he.

”The rich widow,” says I, ”that lives in the big house over on the Sh.o.r.e Drive.” I pointed it out.

”A widow!” says he. ”Thanks be! Shorty, she's the one!”

”Not your Miss McDevitt?” says I.

”No other,” says he. ”I'd swear it!”

”Then you're nutty in the head, Mr. Larry Bolan,” says I; ”for I've known her these two years, and never heard of her being an ex-nurse.”

”She might not care to boast of it,” says he. ”Rich, did you say?”

”Near a million, they say,” says I; ”which don't fit in with the nurse idea, does it?”

”I couldn't mistake Katie McDevitt,” says he, waggin' his head mulish.

”But who was this Steele beggar?”

”She moved here after plantin' him West somewhere,” says I. ”One of the big lumber crowd, I've heard. Sadie can tell you more.”

”Thanks,” says he; ”but I'll have it from Katie herself. Take me there.”

”Eh?” says I. ”On a chance shot? I'd look well, wouldn't I?”

”But you must,” says he. ”Now!”

”Come off!” says I. ”You with only a glance at her! Besides, she's one of these stiff, distant parties that keeps to herself.”

”McCabe,” says he, ”I mean to talk with her within the hour if I have to smash in her front door and wring a butler's neck.”

There's a thrill in his voice as he says it, and from all I know of Larry Bolan there's no stoppin' him. We started off.

The nearer we got to the big house, though, the battier the enterprise seemed to me. First off, I'd been nursin' a dislike for Mrs. Steele ever since I'd overheard a little seance between her and one of the outside men. She'd caught him smugglin' home a few measly vegetables from her big garden, and after tongue las.h.i.+n' him lively she fires him on the spot--him a poor Dago with a big fam'ly. Then there'd been tales told by the butcher, the plumber, and half a dozen others, all goin' to show she was a lady tightwad, or worse.