“What!” exclaimed Grogan incredulously. “Do you mean to say a bunch like that can drop out of a town like Millville without anyone knowing where they’ve gone?”
“I’m not telling you. The facts speak for themselves,” said Harry.
Both men were silent.
“Mike,” said young Boland suddenly.
“Yes,” responded Grogan.
“You were married?”
The Irishman was too surprised by the question to answer.
“I’ve heard you speak about your wife,” Harry insisted.
Grogan still vouchsafed no answer. He stood staring at Boland.
“I’ve heard you speak of your wife, Norah,” repeated Harry, “in a way that made me feel how sacred her memory was to you. She married you, a husky young Irish laborer in the mills, and how that little woman worked for you, toiling, saving, scrimping, tending the babies as they came! How you worshiped her, and big man as you were, how a word from her would make you kneel at her feet. You held her in your arms when the little mounds were raised in the church yard—”