Barlow went out, and Oscar laid down his pen and walked to the window. His wagon, fully loaded and ready for the start, had been backed under one of the sheds, and Paddy O'Brian sat at his ease on the dissel-boom, puffing at a short pipe, and blowing the smoke into the eyes and nostrils of the dogs whenever they showed a disposition to become too familiar. Oscar raised the window and called to him.
"Take off your caubeen, if that's what you call it in Irish," said he. "I've got something for you."
Paddy doffed his hat, and his employer tossed a couple of sovereigns into it.
"That isn't to be taken out of your wages, Paddy," Oscar explained. "It is a present from me. You may want to buy something for yourself or your sweetheart before we start. Judge Donahue tells me you have a sweetheart."
"Long life to your honor!" cried the Irishman as soon as he had recovered from his surprise.
"That is to reward you for being faithful to your trust," continued Oscar. "You see you didn't lose anything by refusing to take the bribe Harris offered you this morning."
Paddy began to understand the matter now. He backed away from the window, and, looking through the gateway, saw the man who had tried to bribe him passing along the street.
"There he is overbeyont. Say the worrud, your honor, an' I'll go an' bate him."