Parker, who was now sitting up with his head in his hands, looked up drowsily. Agnes went toward him. “Have you the will?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “No, I gave it to some one. I’m so sleepy I can’t talk.” His head dropped again.
“It is strange where it has gone, then,” said Agnes, “for I know he had it when he left us; he told me so.”
“Well, I ain’t got it, worse luck,” snapped Humphrey.
“Then it don’t seem to me that there’s any use our settin’ around here,” said Dod. “As long as Park ain’t got nothin’ about him that ye want, ye’ll be willin’ we should take him home. Mebbe ye’d like us all to turn over any little thing we’ve got about us. Ye’ve mistaken yer callin’, Hump, ye’d ought a hev ben a pirate.”
Muirhead turned on him in impotent rage, but Dod only laughed in his face. “I’ve not done with this yet,” said Humphrey. “I’ll admit I ain’t nothin’ agin Willett, specially as he saved my boy, an’ I thank him fur that act o’ hisn, but I’ve no call to be friendly with them Kennedys.”
“Your niece here took keer o’ the young un like a mother, an’ gave him up with tears in her eyes even when she knew he was yours.”
“What’s her tears to me! She’d no right to the boy; he’s mine. Maybe they’ll be tryin’ to steal him next.”
“Ah, but yer a black-hearted scoundrel, Hump Muirhead,” said Dod, in wrath. “I’ve a mind to take a turn at givin’ ye a good lambastin’. I’ve threatened myself to do it this many a day, an’ I’d ha’ done it before now if ye hadn’t bore yer father’s name, pore misguided lad that he was.”
Humphrey’s fist doubled up, but Dod faced him with a careless contempt. “Yer day o’ reckonin’s cornin’,” he went on, “an’ I’m a-settin’ waitin’ fur it. Come, lads, we’ll git out o’ this. I hope the next time we’re under this roof it’ll be to call on Mrs. Fergus Kennedy. Walkin’s the best thing to rouse Park, so bring him along, Doc, you an’ Tom.” And he marched out without further ado.