"Die, you damned old fool, you?" exclaimed Joe, who happened to come around with a pot of gruel just at that moment and overheard Sandy's remark. "You'll not die for years yet. I never saw you lookin' so well in all your life."
"It's all over with me, Moleskin," said poor Sandy. "It's a great wonder that I've stood it so long, but just now the thocht came to me that I'd like tae dee awa' back in my own place in the Isle of Skye. If I could just save as muckle siller as would take me there, I'd be content enough."
"Some people are content with hellish little!" said Joe angrily. "You've got to buck up, man, for there's a good time comin', though you'll never—I mean that ev'rything will come right in the end. We'll see that you get home all right, you fool, you!"
Joe was ashamed to find himself guilty of any kind impulse, and he endeavoured to hide his good intentions behind rough words. When he called Sandy an old fool Sandy's eyes sparkled, and he got into such good humour that he joined in the chorus of the Bold Navvy Man when Clancy, who is now known as Clancy of the Cross, gave bellow to Mullholland's magnum opus.
Early on the morning of the next day, which was pay-day, Moleskin was busy at work sounding the feelings of the party towards a great scheme which he had in mind; and while waiting at the pay-office when the day's work was completed, Joe made the following speech to Red Billy's gang, all of whom, with the exception of Sandy MacDonald, were present.
"Boys, Sandy MacDonald wants to go home and die in his own place," said Joe, weltering into his subject at once. "He'll kick the bucket soon, for he has the look of the grave in his eyes. He only wants as much tin as will take him home, and that is not much for any man to ask, is it? So what do you say, boys, to a collection for him, a shillin' a man, or whatever you can spare? Maybe some day, when you turn respectable, one of you can say to yourself, 'I once kept myself from gettin' drunk, by givin' some of my money to a man who needed it more than myself.' Now, just look at him comin' across there."
We looked in the direction of Joe's outstretched finger and saw Sandy coming towards us, his rags fluttering around him like the duds of a Michaelmas scarecrow.
"Isn't he a pitiful sight!" Moleskin went on. "He looks like the Angel of Death out on the prowl! It's a God's charity to help a man like Sandy and make him happy as we are ourselves. We are at home here; he is not. So it is up to us to help him out of the place. Boys, listen to me!" Moleskin's voice sank into an intense whisper. "If every damned man of you don't pay a shillin' into this collection I'll look for the man that doesn't, and I'll knuckle his ribs until he pays for booze for ev'ry man in Billy's shack, by God! I will."
Everyone paid up decently, and on behalf of the gang I was asked to present the sum of three pounds fifteen shillings to Sandy MacDonald. Sandy began to cry like a baby when he got the money into his hands, and every man in the job called out involuntarily: "Oh! you old fool, you!"