“That's a sad case,” said Kellett, compassionately.
“I was like everybody else tell I had the fever,” continued Driscoll, confidentially. “It was the spotted fever, not the scarlet fever, d' ye mind; and when I came out of it on the twenty-ninth day, I was the same as a child, simple and innocent You 'd laugh now if I told you what I did with the first half-crown I got. I bought a bag of marbles!”
And Kellett did laugh heartily; less, perhaps, at the circumstance than at the manner and look of him who told it.
“Ay, faith, marbles!” muttered Driscoll to himself; “'tis a game I'm mighty fond of.”
“Will you take a little whiskey-and-water? Hot or cold?” asked Kellett, courteously.
“Just a taste, to take off the deadness of the water,” said Driscoll. “I 'm obleeged to be as cautious as if I was walkin' on eggs. Dr. Dodd says to me, 'Terry,' says he, 'you had never much brains in your best days, but now you 're only a sheet of thin paper removed from an idiot, and if you touch spirits it's all up with you.'”
“That was plain speaking, anyhow,” said Kellett, smiling.
“Yes,” said Driscoll, while he seemed struggling to call up some reminiscence: and then, having succeeded, said, “Ay, 'There's five-and-twenty in Swift's this minute,' said he, 'with their heads shaved, and in blue cotton dressing-gowns, more sensible than yourself.' But, you see, there was one thing in my favor,—I was always harmless.”
The compassionate expression with which Kellett listened to this declaration guaranteed how completely the speaker had engaged his sympathy.
“Well, well,” continued Driscoll, “maybe I'm just as happy, ay, happier than ever I was! Every one is kind and good-natured to me now. Nobody takes offence at what I say or do; they know well in their hearts that I don't mean any harm.”