Bill regarded the old man sharply, but in his bearing was no hint of jesting nor raillery, and the little eyes were serious.
"Yes, there was a girl," said Bill slowly; "but she—she does not know."
"So ye've had a scrap wid her, too! But, tell me ye didn't run away from ut—ye're goin' back?" Bill made no reply, and the old man conveyed the food to the table, muttering to himself the while:
"Sure they's more foightin' goin' on thin Oi iver thought to see ag'in. Ut ain't rid war, but ut ain't so bad—werwolves, Moncrossen, booze, Creed, a bit av a gir-rl somewheres, Shtromberg—th' wor-rld is growin' bether afther all, an' Oi'm goin' to be in th' thick av ut!"
Supper over, Bill donned mackinaw, cap, and mittens.
"Phwere ye goin'?" asked Dunnigan.
"To find Creed."
"Wait a bit, 'tis early yit. In half an hour he'll be clost around Burrage's shtove, tellin' th' b'ys about th' bur-rnt shack at Melton's."
Bill resumed his chair.
"Oi've been thinkin' ut out," continued Daddy, between short puffs at his cutty-pipe. "Ye'll have no fun lickin' Creed—'tis shmall satisfaction foightin' a man that won't foight back. An-ny-how, a black eye or a bloody nose is soon minded. An' av ye tur-rn um over to th' authorities ye ain't got much on um, an' ye can't pr-rove phwat ye have got.