‘I’m sure Joe Atlee gave you no such impression of me.’
A short grunt that might mean anything was all the reply.
‘He was my chum, and knew me better,’ reiterated the other.
‘He knows many a thing he doesn’t say, and he says plenty that he doesn’t know. “Kearney will be a swell,” said I, “and he’ll turn upon me just out of contempt for my condition.’”
‘That was judging me hardly, Mr. Donogan.’
‘No, it wasn’t; it’s the treatment the mangy dogs meet all the world over. Why is England insolent to us, but because we’re poor—answer me that? Are we mangy? Don’t you feel mangy?—I know I do!’
Dick smiled a sort of mild contradiction, but said nothing.
‘Now that I see you, Mr. Kearney,’ said the other, ‘I’m as glad as a ten-pound note about a letter I wrote you—’
‘I never received a letter from you.’
‘Sure I know you didn’t! haven’t I got it here?’ And he drew forth a square-shaped packet and held it up before him. ‘I never said that I sent it, nor I won’t send it now: here’s its present address,’ added he, as he threw it on the fire and pressed it down with his foot.