“It’s the long time since you’ve been to see us, Mr. Cassidy,” Kate said at last.
“It is,” Michael replied. “The place is fairly overrun. It’s the queer lot you have hanging about.”
“Overrun, do you say!” exclaimed Kate. “There’s not been a soul there in weeks.”
Michael laughed disagreeably.
“It’s not an hour since I saw this wind-bag come out of the door,” he replied in a loud voice. Then he put his hand to his mouth, saying softly: “When you strike, strike quick and hard, Mr. Kerrigan. I’d like to have it over. And look out for the old man’s stick.” Kerrigan grinned.
Kate, on Kerrigan’s left, had not heard the aside, and she grew pale. She leaned forward now to say sweetly:
“And how are your father and mother—Michael? Are they well?”
“They are,” Michael answered; “but a bit low in spirit. I’d take it kindly if you’d parade the big monkey you’ve got with you before their gate. Belikes it would hearten them up; they’re fond of a show.”
They heard Reilly chuckle.
“Aye, Michael’s the b’y,” he muttered, and gripped his stick hard.