The old man hung his head with a dejected air, as one whose plans and purposes had miscarried.
“Good avenin’, sor,” said Phelim, lifting his hat as they passed.
Himes started and turned his head, for the Irishman was already somewhat in his rear.
“Hollo! is that you, O’Rourke?” he called. “Come back, will you? I want a word with you.”
Phelim was at his horse’s side in an instant, asking, “What’s your wull, sor?”
“I’ve a job on hand, and want help with it; could you come and take a hand at it for a day or two?”
“Sure, sor, if I knowed what it was I cud aisier tell that same.”
“It’s the making of a raft over yonder on the river-bank; ’twon’t take much knowledge beyond how to wield an axe and hammer in nails, and ye’re not wantin’ in that or in strength.”
“Well, sor, I’ll drame on it the night an’ lat yees know in the mornin’,” Phelim answered, turning to go.
“Wait a minute,” Himes said. “If ye can bring one or two more fellows with you, it’ll be all the better; we’ll get through the sooner, and that’ll suit me first-rate, for I’m gettin’ in a big hurry to be off.”