“All right!” he said, with sudden resolve. “Take the medal and try it.”
And old Jonah, who was not half so dull as, for commercial purposes, he looked, turned to an old mahogany desk propped up on three legs, and gave the young owner a duly signed receipt for one silver-rimmed bronze medal, date 1850, and the business was concluded.
“Suppose you really get twenty-five dollars, Dan,” said Freddy, as they bade old Jonah good-bye and kept on their way. “What will you do with it?”
“I’m not saying,” replied Dan, mindful of his promise to Father Mack. “But I’ll start something, you can bet, Freddy!”
And then they went on down to the wharf, where the “Sary Ann” lay at her moorings, and Brother Bart was seated on a bench in pleasant converse with the Irish sexton of the little church, who had been showing the friendly old Brother some of the sights of the town.
“Here come my boys now. This is Dan Dolan, and this is my own laddie that I’ve been telling ye about, Mr. McNally. And where—where are the others?” questioned Brother Bart, anxiously.
“I don’t know,” answered Dan, after he had reciprocated Mr. McNally’s hearty hand-shake. “Dud said something about going to the Fosters.”
“Sure and that isn’t hard to find,” said Mr. McNally. “It’s one of the biggest places on Main Street, with hydrangeas growing like posies all around the door. Any one will show ye.”
“Go back for them, Danny lad. Ye can leave laddie here with me while ye bring the others back; for the day is passing, and we must be sailing home.”
XIV.—Polly.