“You bet your bottom dollar I did,” said Frank. “I could make a metal casting of any animal and send it traveling with speed. This horse will probably travel at the rate of sixty miles an hour when under high pressure, and could keep going thirty-five or forty miles an hour for ten hours, with occasional ten minute stops to cool a hot joint.” “Is that so?” ejaculated Patrick. “I can philosophize and so forth, but that bates me. Now, I moind that I was jist as much surprised whin I was tould about a Sthame Mon that thraveled over the counthry out west and----” “What?” cried Frank Reade, surprise ringing in his voice. “The Steam Man was my invention.” “Ye mane it?” “Of course; I invented the old fellow and traveled over the west with him.” “Honor bright now?” said McSpalten. “Honor bright,” said Frank. “Thin ye are the broth of a gossoon he was telling me about.” “Who?” “Me cousin.” “What’s his name?” “Barney Shea.” “What!” cried the much-pleased boy, “is Barney Shea your cousin?” “Av coorse he is. Me grandfeyther on me mother’s side was an O’Reilly, and Barney’s grandmother on his feyther’s side was a McSpalten, and didn’t they mate one foine summer’s marning, and all the lossies and lods----” “Oh, hire a stump,” broke in Frank. “Never mind the old folks, but tell me about Barney. How is he?” “Well and harety.” “When did you see him last?” “A month ago, when he said God speed to me on the quay at Dublin. Ah, he’s a great mon in the county now, is me cousin, Barney Shea. Frank Rade is yer name, for mony a toime has he tould me of yer diviltries with the red haythen out in the west.” “Frank Reade is my name,” said the young inventor. “Is Barney coming back to this country, do you know?” “Faith, I heerd him talkin’ about the matther, an’ saying that he moight take a pleasure trip to this land.” “Do you know his address?” “Do I, don’t I?” cried Pat. “Would yez be afther sinding a letther to the mon?” “That’s the idea,” said Frank. “For what?” “To get him to come out here and travel with me.” “And with that thing?” “Yes,” said Frank. “He was the darndest cuss to fight that ever I laid my eyes on. He was always spoiling for a first class shake-up or knock-down, and he was the toughest boy in a rough hand-to-hand scrimmage that ever walloped his way through the West. I could depend on him when there was fighting for us to handle, and he was a mighty stanch friend to me. What’s his address?” “Esquire Barney Shea, Clonakilty, County of Cork, Ireland.” “All right,” said Frank, jotting it down in a book, “I’ve got it.” “Whist now,” said Pat, “whin ye direct the letther, moind that yez don’t lave off the esquire.” “I’ll moind,” said Frank. “Now, will ye be afther havin’ the extrame nateness of showin’ me how in the name of the seven wondhers of the worruld ye mane to make that conthrivance thravel loike a harse?”