"You! Is it the truth ye're tellin' me?"
"May I nivver spake another wurrd if I'm not."
O'Connell took the little man's hand and shook it until the doctor screamed out to him to let it go.
"What are ye doin' at all—crushin' the feelin' out of me? Sure that's no way to show yer appreciation," and McGinnis held the crushed hand to the side of his face in pain.
"It's sorry I am if I hurt ye and it's glad I am at the cause. So it's a wealthy man ye are now, docthor, eh?"
"Middlin' wealthy."
"And what are ye doin' in New York?"
"Sure this is the counthry to take money to. It doubles itself out here over night, they tell me."
"Yer takin' it away from the land of yer birth?"
"That's what I'm doin' until I make it into enough where I can go back and do some good. It's tired I am of blood-lettin', and patchin' up the sick and ailin', fevers an' all. I've got a few years left to enjoy meself—an' I'm seventy come November—an' I mane to do it."