"You say so, James. We all deny the werminous cancers that gnaw our vitals. But look into your own heart, question yourself—"
"Aw, pound yer ear," snapped James.
Some one was heard approaching and Mike paused from cleaning the blade of his knife in the ground before him to listen.
"The youth comes," said he, and rose clumsily to his little fat legs. He stepped aside to see up the path, but James did not move.
"A radiant vision of manly beauty," announced Mike, one hand on his heart, the other shading his small eyes as though dazzled by a great and brilliant light.
James glanced up sullenly. A youth was coming through the trees, tall and graceful and broad-shouldered. His suit of soft brown, his gently tipped panama, his light shoes and silk socks brought with them a breath of motor-cars and steam yachts, of the smoker in a railway train, with a white-clad, attentive porter, instead of the brake beam underneath and an irate station-master and furious conductor. From the lapel of his coat gleamed a heavy gold chain and in his stylish tie a pin of odd but costly workmanship caught the eye of the enraptured beholder.
Mike laid his hand on his heart again, removed his hat, and standing aside for the youth to pass, bowed low.
"Me lud," said he in humble salutation.
"Me lud," he said in humble salutation