“And how are ye the day?” Reilly said genially, and extended his hand. In manifest surprise the young man shook hands and said:
“Well, Mr. Reilly, as the world goes. And how are you?”
“Fine, Michael,” Reilly replied, “though troubled a small bit.” He glanced ahead at the pair, who had not looked back. The young man’s eyes also followed them.
“Aye, it’s the world’s way,” he agreed with a somber air. “It’s up and down with us all.”
“It is, Michael Cassidy,” replied Reilly. “But I’ve not seen ye for the long time.”
As Michael had been forbidden to come to the house, he deemed it politic to make no reply. His silence left Reilly at a loss, and presently he said with a melancholy shake of the head:
“It’s God’s truth, as they say, that a mon niver knows what’s good for him.”
Michael looked at him inquiringly.
“Are you speaking of yourself, Mr. Reilly?” he asked.
“I am,” Reilly confessed. “Here was I keepin’ a fine lad like yersilf from me house, and who should me daughter bring into it but thot big lump yon! Bedad! he fills the whole place!”