McKenna’s proffered treat had touched the feelings of Kehoe in a tender place, favorably introduced him to a portion of the Girardville community, and it was not so very long before he was on the best of terms with all in the house. Finally finding that his reputation in that line had preceded him, and having been invited to do so, he was prevailed upon to strike up a song, and gave, without accompaniment, “Larboard Watch,” followed soon by “Kathleen Mavourneen.” At the request of a native of Scotia present, he then sung, in fair voice and accent, the “Collier Laddie,” by Burns, beginning: “Where live ye, my bonnie lass? An’ tell me what they ca’ ye; ‘My name,’ she says, ‘is Mistress Jean, And I follow the collier laddie. My name,’ she says, ’is Mistress Jean, And I follow the collier laddie.’” This particularly pleased the miners, one of whom felt so merry over the strain that he called up the crowd and proposed a toast to “Bobby Burns, Mistress Jean, and the stranger singer.” It was drank with highest honors, and then the landlord could do no less than follow suit. This business was kept up until nearly night. When the hangers-on had dropped off, one by one, to their homes, Kehoe stepped from the bar, sat down by the stranger’s side, and showed himself unusually communicative. He ended by calling McKenna to the counter and drinking a toast, which, from its sound and sentiment, he was positive must have been a Mollie signal; but the detective knew too well the result to try a response, and contented himself with drinking it in silence. Kehoe went further and gave him the identical sign, with the hand to the face, which he had noticed Lanky using the day before. To this also McKenna remained blind. He was not to be caught. “I see that you know nothing at present,” said Kehoe at last. “Faith, an’ that’s exactly true for ye,” responded the detective. “It’s a very long time since ever I was within.” “That makes no difference, for I am also an old-timer, dating back to ’66.” And Kehoe peered suspiciously at the stranger from his half-shut eyes, while he awaited some identifying movement or word from McKenna. Here was more trouble. Another Ancient had been encountered who was not to be trifled with. It was no longer stolid Pat Dormer who stood before him. “Now for it,” thought the bothered detective. “Deil a thing have I to trate him wid, barrin’ some balderdash that I gave in Pottsville, an’ which I’m positive ’ll not fool Kehoe.”