Here I struck in:—
“Never mind me, Andy! If you can help this gentleman, do so: I’m better off here than driving through the storm. He wouldn’t want to go on, with a broken arm, if he hadn’t good reason!”
The man looked at me with grateful eagerness:—
“Thank yer honour, kindly. It’s a rale gintleman ye are! An’ I hope ye’ll never be sorry for helpin’ a poor fellow in sore throuble.”
“What’s wrong, Phelim?” asked the priest. “Is there anything troubling you that any one here can get rid of?”
“Nothin’, Father Pether, thank ye kindly. The throuble is me own intirely, an’ no wan here could help me. But I must see Murdock to-night.”
There was a general sigh of commiseration; all understood the situation.
“Musha!” said old Dan Moriarty, sotto voce. “An’ is that the way of it! An’ is he too in the clutches iv that wolf? Him that we all thought was so warrum. Glory be to God! but it’s a quare wurrld it is; an’ it’s few there is in it that is what they seems. Me poor frind! is there any way I can help ye? I have a bit iv money by me that yer welkim to the lend iv av ye want it.”
The other shook his head gratefully:—
“Thank ye kindly, Dan, but I have the money all right; it’s only the time I’m in trouble about!”