"Thank God!" said Father Honoré as he lifted the limp head and shoulders. With the other's aid he carried him into the cabin and laid him on the floor. The priest took off his own wet cloak, then his coat; with the latter he covered the poor clay that lay apparently lifeless—no one should look upon that face either in curiosity, contempt, or pity.
The detective went out to interview the driver of the team.
"Where'd you pick him up?"
"'Long on West Street, just below Park Place. I see by the way he spoke he'd broke his wind—asked if I was goin' to a ferry an' if I'd give him a lift. I said 'Come along,' and asked no questions. He ain't the first I've helped out o' trouble, but I guess I've got him in sure enough this time."
"You're going to put up on the Island?"
"Yes; but what business is it o' a decent-looking cove like youse, I'd like to know."
"Well, it's this way: we've got to get this man back to New York to-night; it's the boat's last trip and there ain't a chance of getting a cab or hack in this blizzard, and at this time of night, to get him up from the ferry. If you'll take the job, I'll give you fifteen dollars for it."
"That ain't so easy earned in a reg'lar snow-in; besides, I don't want to be a party to gettin' him furder into your grip by takin' him over."
"Oh, that's all right. He's got a friend with him who'll see to him for the rest of the night."
"Well, I don't mind then. It's goin' on one now, an' I might as well make a night o' it on t' other side. It's damned hard on the hosses, though, an' it's ten to one I don't get lifted myself by one o' them cussed cruelty to animil fellers that sometimes poke their noses into the wrong end o' their business.—Make it twenty an' it is done."