"Then why the devil aren't you?"
"Are you going there?" I asked, forgetting that he had already told me of his design.
"When I burst the last tanner in my pocket," he answered. "I've nine quid clear, so I'll get drunk nine hundred times and more. What caused you to give up the booze? A woman, was it?"
Suddenly the impulse came to me and I told Joe my story, my second meeting with Norah Ryan, and my desire to see her again. There in the ragged bed, with Joe stripped naked to the buff, and half drunk, sitting beside me, I told the story of my love for Norah, our parting, her shame, and my weary searching for her through the streets of Glasgow. Much of the story he knew, for I had told it to him in Kinlochleven long before. But I wanted to unburden myself of my sorrow, I wanted sympathy, I wanted the consolation of a fellow-man in my hours of worry. When I had finished my mate remained silent for a long while and I expected his usual tirades against women when he began to speak. On the contrary, the story seemed to have sobered him and his voice was full of feeling when he spoke.
"I'm goin' to help you to find your wench, Dermod," he said. "That's better than gettin' drunk, though I'd prefer gettin' drunk to gettin' married."
"But——"
"Don't but me!" roared Joe. "I'm goin' to give you a hand. Do you like that or do you not?"
"I'll be more than glad to have your help," I answered; "but——"
"No more damned buts, but let's get to business. Here, Judas Iscariot, are you feelin' sour this mornin'?"