With a sense of shock he realized that he had been very far away. Adam was choking and wheezing and gasping himself into weakness. "For God's sake," exclaimed Kenny with a feeling of guilt, "what's the matter? Are you laughing or choking?" "I'm laughing," said Adam, shaking with mirth. "Kenny, I'm just laughing." "Well," said Kenny huffily, "laugh your head off if you want to. I mean what I say." The old man chuckled. "I'd be disappointed," he said, "if you didn't." Kenny stared at him in intense disgust. A perverse old lunatic! He would like his new diversion less perhaps as time went on. "I want you to forget," Adam said abruptly, "about last night. I was--jealous. I hate your health. I--hate your straight legs--Oh, My God!" he whispered, shuddering, and closed his eyes. When he opened them his smile was ghastly. "Kenny," he said with a pitiful air of bravado, "do you know a tune, an Irish tune called 'Eileen Aroon'?" "Yes," said Kenny, clearing his throat. "Yes." "Whistle it." Kenny obeyed. His eyes were sympathetic, "Well," said Adam in muffled tones, "it isn't Irish. It's Robin Adair and it came from Scotland." But his voice was tired. Kenny rummaged in the closet for his brandy. "There are times," said Adam queerly, "when you've an open-hearted, understanding way about you. I believe you even know why I get drunk." "Yes," said Kenny, "I think I do." Adam dropped hack limply in his chair. "It's because," he whispered, "I've--got--to--sleep!" Startled at his manner, Kenny remembered the fairy mill and wondered. CHAPTER XIII KENNY'S TRUTH CRUSADE Kenny began his truth crusade the next night. "Adam," he said, halting on the threshold of the old man's sitting room with one hand carelessly behind him and his attitude expectant and determined, "I've often wondered why every book in the farmhouse is up here on your shelves." Adam cupped his ear with his hand. "Wh-a-a-a-t?" he asked blankly. Kenny brought the hand behind his back forward. It held a megaphone. "I said," he bellowed through it, "that I've often wondered why all the books in the farmhouse are here upon your shelves." Adam sat up. "For God's sake, Kenny," he said. "Close the door. Where did you get that thing?" he demanded with a scowl. "It's Hughie's and the very sight of it was an inspiration." "Give it to me!" "On the contrary I intend to cure your deafness." Adam stared. "I mean just this: You can hear as well as I can. You pretend to be deaf when you don't want to hear." "What?" snapped the old man with a glance like lightning. "You told me to practice the truth," reminded Kenny, dropping into a chair. "I'm merely beginning. I've a lot to say. And the health of your hearing, Adam, is an indispensable adjunct to my practice hour and my peace of mind. I'm merely insuring myself against your refusing with a feint of deafness to hear what I have to say."