‘And the old devil has told you mine?’ asked he quickly.
‘No, I believe I discovered that for myself. I tumbled over some of your things last night, and saw a letter addressed to you.’
‘You didn’t read it?’
‘Certainly not. It fell out of your pocket-book, and I put it back there.’
‘So the old hag didn’t blab on me? I’m anxious about this, because it’s got out somehow that I’m back again. I landed at Kenmare in a fishing-boat from the New York packet, the Osprey, on Tuesday fortnight, and three of the newspapers had it before I was a week on shore.’
‘Our breakfast is getting cold; sit down here and let me help you. Will you begin with a rasher?’
Not replying to the invitation, Donogan covered his plate with bacon, and leaning his arm on the table, stared fixedly at Kearney.
‘I’m as glad as fifty pounds of it,’ muttered he slowly to himself.
‘Glad of what?’
‘Glad that you’re not a swell, Mr. Kearney,’ said he gravely. ‘“The Honourable Richard Kearney,” whenever I repeated that to myself, it gave me a cold sweat. I thought of velvet collars and a cravat with a grand pin in it, and a stuck-up creature behind both, that wouldn’t condescend to sit down with me.’