“Come, Pat,” said he, “don’t keep me in suspense. I see by your manner that some horrible thing has happened to some of you. Which is it? Is it Bart?”
Pat shook his head.
“It’s me,” said he, in a dismal voice. “Me. I’m the one.”
“You! Why, what do you mean?”
“I’m a leper!” wailed Pat.
“You, what? You’re what? What are you talking about?”
“You’ll know soon enough. An maybe ye’ll find out from shakin my hand the way ye did jist now.”
“Shaking your hand!”
“Yis,” said Pat. “Ayven the touch of me’s on-whowlsome, so it is. An I’ve got that on me that’s goin to be the death of me afore long, so it is.”
“See here, Pat,” cried Phil, anxiously. “Tell me what’s the matter, like a good fellow. You make me horribly anxious. What do you mean?”