CHAPTER XIV.
WALTER CLYDE'S STORY.
Barney Mulloy had been holding on to keep from shouting with laughter, and now he exploded.
"Ha! ha! ha!" he roared. "Pwhat do yez think av thot, profissor? Thot wur th' narrowest escape ivver hearrud av, ur Oi'm a loier!"
"Send for the undertaker!" came in a hollow groan from the lips of the professor.
"You do not seem to feel well?" said Frank, hastening to the man's assistance. "What is the trouble?"
"If I die of heart failure you will be responsible!" fiercely grated Scotch.
"Doie!" cried Barney. "Whoy, ye'll live ter pick daisies on yer own grave, profissor."
"This is terrible!" faintly rumbled the little man, as he regained his chair, and began to mop cold perspiration from his face with a handkerchief.