"For God's sake," exclaimed Kenny with a feeling of guilt, "what's the matter? Are you laughing or choking?"
"I'm laughing," said Adam, shaking with mirth. "Kenny, I'm just laughing."
"Well," said Kenny huffily, "laugh your head off if you want to. I mean what I say."
The old man chuckled.
"I'd be disappointed," he said, "if you didn't."
Kenny stared at him in intense disgust. A perverse old lunatic! He would like his new diversion less perhaps as time went on.
"I want you to forget," Adam said abruptly, "about last night. I was—jealous. I hate your health. I—hate your straight legs—Oh, My God!" he whispered, shuddering, and closed his eyes. When he opened them his smile was ghastly.
"Kenny," he said with a pitiful air of bravado, "do you know a tune, an Irish tune called 'Eileen Aroon'?"
"Yes," said Kenny, clearing his throat. "Yes."
"Whistle it."