“Well, Phelan,” said Gladwin, turning to that distressed individual, “the evening’s entertainment seems at an end.”
“’Tis a divvil of an intertainment fer me––I’ll be broke to-morrer.”
“Oh, no, Phelan,” and the young man walked over and patted him on the shoulder, “not broke––you’ll resign.”
“A swell chance I’ve got to resign––with no shield to turn in. It’ll break the heart of me poor ould mother.”
There were tears in Michael Phelan’s voice and his woe-begone expression was pitiable. Young Gladwin hastened to cheer him up.
“I will take it upon myself to see that you are honorably discharged, Phelan. I can almost swear that a little note to Captain Stone with an inclosure of say four figures will put through your resignation.”
“But I’ll be out of a job, won’t I?” flared Phelan.
“Not for a minute. I am going to give you a job for life.”
“What?”