CHAPTER XXXIV
MR MURPHY IN EXCELSIS
“Now, Misther Cogan,” said Paddy, when the last glimpse of Mr Fanshawe had vanished amidst the trees, “a word in your ear.”
“Paddy,” said Con Cogan, who was white to his lips, and licking them, “you may b’lave me or not, but it wasn’t I set Billy Croom on to yiz.”
“Who said you did?” asked Paddy. “Who said Con Cogan ever went back on a friend? Show me the man that siz it, and I’ll show you his liver on the pint of a stick.”
Con Cogan would have much preferred Paddy to have stormed at him. You see, he knew his man.
“And now that we’ve finished the parlymentaries,” said Mr Murphy, “we’ll get to bizness. Into the ould tree wid you, and fitch me the powther horn, the bu’lets and the waddin’, for I’m goin’ huntin’.”
“Paddy, sure, y’ ain’t goin’ to shut me?” asked Con. He looked sick, and no blame to him, for it is always an unpleasant question when one has to put it to another man.
“Shut you?” said Mr Murphy, with fine contempt, which Con felt to be a horrible simulation. “Shut you—what’s set you cockin’ yourself up wid the idea you was worth powther and shot? Into the tree wid yiz, and do me biddin’.”
Con, relieved not at all, climbed into the tree, and Mr Murphy turned his attention to the clothes left behind him by Billy Croom. He searched the pockets of the coat—found nothing in them; then, taking off his own coat, he put on Croom’s.
It didn’t fit. In fact, a seam of the shoulder frankly burst when Mr Murphy put his powerful triceps in action stooping down to pick up the old hunting cap which Billy, by the directions of the powers above, had discarded with the clothes.