“So ye have hurried here at wanst, eh?” said he. “Divil the foot have yez iver put in the house afore, Larry?”
“It’s manners to wait till yer asked,” returned Larry gruffly.
The stout man closed the door. The house was soundless, and there was a heavy smell of sickness; the door of the sitting room stood partly open, and Larry caught the rustle of skirts.
“I knowed yez’ed come,” continued the man who had admitted him. “Ah, but it’s the sharp wan yez are, Larry.”
The youth turned and grasped the door knob. “I knowed how it’d be,” snarled he, looking savagely over his shoulder at the stout man. “I’ll lick youse for this, Kelly!”
He jerked open the door and was about to depart when a woman’s voice called:
“Mr. Murphy!” A girl had come into the entry from the sitting room; she was tall and slim; a bright spot burned in each cheek and she coughed slightly as the draft from the open door struck her. She held out her hand.
“I’m glad that you’ve come,” said she. “Your grandfather has been asking for you again. Were you going away?”
“Yes,” said Larry. He closed the door and took the proffered hand, ashamed of the anger which Kelly had awakened. She looked into his face with quiet, candid eyes.
“That was wrong,” she said. “He is very low; will you come up?”