“Go home, Thomas,” said Cæsar, twiddling the reins, “go home and try for the future to be a better man.”
But that was too much for Black Tom. “Better man, is it? Come down on the quay and up with your fiss, and I'll show you which of us is the better man.”
A moment later Cæsar and Pete were rattling over the cobbles of the market-place, with the dog racing behind. Pete was full of questions.
“And how's yourself, Mr. Cregeen?”
“I'm in, sir, I'm in, sir, praise the Lord.”
“And Grannie?”
“Like myself, sir, not getting a dale younger, but caring little for spiritual things, though.”
“Going west, is she, poor ould angel? There ought to be a good piece of daylight at her yet, for all. And—and Nancy Joe?”
“A happy sinner still,” said Cæsar. “I suppose, sir, you'd be making good money out yonder now? We were hearing the like, anyway.”
“Money!” said Pete. “Well, yes. Enough to keep off the divil and the coroner. But how's—how's——”