“I’m afire! Is there a well outside that I can dive into the same?”
“Turn around; I can help you,” said Noxon, laughing, dropping his foot and sitting forward.
Together they quenched the twist of blaze which if left alone would have played the mischief with Mike’s garments.
“I’m thinking this is a little different, Mr. Noxon, from last night.”
“It is, and I hope it will always stay that way.”
Mike was astonished and looked questioningly at the fellow.
“Phwat might ye be maaning?” he asked, lowering his voice.
Noxon tried to speak, but his voice broke. He snatched out his handkerchief from the side pocket of his coat and pressed it to his eyes. Then his breast heaved and he broke into sobbing.
The heart of Mike melted at the sight. He had never dreamed of anything like this. Enmity and resentment gave way to an anguish of sympathy for the fellow. He longed to say something comforting, but could not think of a word, and remained mute. Very soon the youth regained his self-control. Dropping his handkerchief in his lap, and with eyes streaming, he exclaimed from the very depths of his despair:
“Oh, why didn’t that man aim better and kill me! I’m not fit to live! I’m the worst villain unhanged! I am lost—damned, and a curse to those who love me!”