“Sure, I’ve had the misforchunes of Job,” he said. “First, I lost me darlin’ wife. Thin I lost me job as a buildher’s foreman. I had two sons, and wan was dhrowned at say, an’ the other was killed in a mine——”
“In a mine? What sort of mine?”
“A gold mine, at a place called Bison, in Colorado.”
“When?”
“Nine years ago last Christmas?”
“Was his name Maguire?”
“No, sorr—Rafferty. A foine, upshtandin’ boy he was, too.”
Power recalled the incident. Indeed, he had helped to clear the rockfall which crushed the life out of the unfortunate miner. But he gave no sign of his knowledge.
“Why is your grandson named Maguire?” he went on.
“He is my daughther’s son, an’ she died in childbirth. More’s the pity, because Maguire was a dacint man; but he took to the dhrink afther she was gone, an’ that was the ind of him.”