"He was pretty full at Newton's last night," Roy said, "and talkin'—talkin' about Sophie singing in America, and the great lady she is now. And how she was goin' to send for him, and he'd be leavin' us soon, and how sorry we'd all be then."
"Should've thought you'd about wore out that joke," Michael remarked, dryly.
Roy's easy, good-natured voice faltered.
"Oh, well," he said, "he likes to show off a bit, and it don't hurt us, Michael."
"That's right," Michael returned; "but Potch was out half the night bringing him home. You chaps might remember Paul's our proposition when you're having a bit of fun out of him."
Potch turned back to his work.
"Right, Michael," Roy said. And then, after a moment, having decided that both Michael's and Potch's demeanours were too calm for them to have heard what he had, as if savouring the effect of his news, he added:
"But perhaps we won't have many more chances-seein' Rummy 'll be going to America before long, perhaps——"
Michael, looking at Roy through his tobacco smoke, realised that he knew about Sophie's having come home. His glance travelled to Potch, who was slogging at the cement stone again.
"Saw old Ventry on me way down to the mine," Roy said, "and he said he'd a passenger on the coach last night.... Who do you think it was?"