"I'm looking for Jack Willington. Have you seen him?"
Mosey gave a shudder. The remembrance of that awful scene in the old mill still hung in his mind.
"No--hic--no," he answered hastily. "Oi haven't see the b'y for two days," and he gave a lurch outward.
"Take care!" exclaimed Mont. "If you tumble over that bank you'll never get out again."
The Irishman drew as far away as possible from the water.
"You're roight, Mont, me b'y," he mumbled. "It's sure death, and no--hic--foolin'."
"So you're certain that you haven't seen Jack?" continued Mont. "He has been out here I know."
The effect of his last words was a truly astonishing one. With a cry of drunken rage, Mosey sprang toward him, his eyes blazing with fury.
"Ye can't come it over--hic--me!" he shouted. "Ye think ye're schmart, but yo're left this--hic--toime."
"What do you mean?" ejaculated Mont.