And Mr. Long smiled encouragingly, so to give Pat a chance to collect his thoughts.
“Little stones?” faltered Pat, as there flashed over him an awful suspicion that he had done an irreparable mischief to somebody, and to Mr. Long in particular. “Little stones, sir?”
“Yes, Pat, little stones. Dirty little stones. You might have seen them, and would suppose that many of them were worthless, unless they were wrapped in paper and carefully packed.”
“Dirty little stones, sir?” said Pat, in an imbecile way.
“Yes,” said Mr. Long.
“And aich one wrapped in paper, sir?” said Pat, whose voice died away into a mournful wail, while he cast an imploring glance at Mr. Long.
“Yes..Tell me,” cried Mr. Long, “have you seen them?”
“I have, sir,” said Pat, dolefully.
“When? where? Where are they now? Where did you put them?”
“I—I—” He hesitated.