“Your sentiments appeal to me strongly, my friend. I'm—too—tired to look—at you. Who the devil—are you?”
“I'm Ricardo.”
Fell a silence, while Webster prepared for another speech. “Where am I?”
“In the palace.”
“Hum-m! Then it was a famous victory.”
“One strong, decisive blow did the trick, old chap. We won pulled-up, and that forty-thousand-dollar bet of yours is safe. I'll cash the ticket for you tomorrow morning.”
“Damn the forty thousand. Where's my Croppy Boy?”
“Your what?”
“My wild Irish blackthorn, Don Juan Cafetéro.”
“I hope, old man, he has ere now that which all brave Irishmen and true deserve—a harp with a crown. In life the Irish have the harp without the crown, you know.”