"First, I'll give him the damnedest licking with my two fists that he ever got in his life; then I'll turn him over to the authorities." Daddy Dunnigan leaned forward and, laying a gnarled hand upon his shoulder, shook him roughly in his excitement: "Yer name, b'y? Phwat is yer name?" His voice quavered, and the little eyes glittered between the red-rimmed lids, bright as an eagle's. The younger man was astonished at his excitement. "Why, Bill," he replied. "Bill or Moike or Pat--wurrah! Oi mane yer rale name--th' whole av ut?" "That I have not told. I am called Bill." "Lord av hiven! I thocht ut th' fir-rst toime Oi seen ye--but now! Man! B'y. Wid thim eyes an' that shmile on yer face, d'ye think ye c'd fool owld Daddy Dunnigan, that was fir-rst corp'l t'rough two campaigns an' a scourge av peace f'r Captain Fronte McKim? "Who lucked afther um loike a brother--an' loved um more--an' who fought an' swore an' laughed an' dhrank wid um trough all th' plague-ridden counthry from Kashmir to th' say--an' who wropped um in his blanket f'r th' lasht toime an' helped burry um wid his eyes open--f'r he'd wished ut so--on th' long, brown slope av a rock-pocked Punjab hill, ranged round tin deep wid th' dead naygers av Hira Kal?" Bill stared at the man wide-eyed. "Fronte McKim?" he cried. "Aye, Fronte McKim! As sh'u'd 'a' been gineral av all Oirland, England, an' Injia. Av he'd 'a' been let go he'd licked th' naygers fir-rst an' diplomated phwat was lift av um. He'd made um shwim off th' field to kape from dhroundin' in their own blood--an' kep' 'em good aftherward wid th' buckle ind av a surcingle. "My toime was up phwin he was kilt, an' Oi quit. F'r Oi niver 'listed to rot in barracks. Oi wint back to Kerry an' told his mither, th' pale, sad Lady Constance--God rist her sowl!--that sint foor b'ys to th' wars that niver come back--an' wud sint foor more if she'd had 'em. "She give me char-rge av th' owld eshtate, wid th' big house, an th' lawn as wide an' as grane as th' angel pastures av hiven--an' little Eily--his sisther--th' purtiest gur-rl owld Oirland iver bred, who was niver tired av listhenin' to tales av her big brother. "Oi shtayed till th' Lady Constance died an' little Eily married a rich man from Noo Yor-rk--Car-rson, or meby Carmen, his name was; an' he carried her off to Amur-rica. 'Twas not th' same in Kerry afther that, an' Oi shtrayed from th' gold camps av Australia to th' woods av Canada." The far-away look that had crept into the old man's eyes vanished, and his voice became gruff and hard. "Oi've hear-rd av yer doin's in th' timber--av yer killin' th' werwolf in th' midst av her pack--an yer lickin' Moncrossen wid a luk an' a grin--av yer knockin' out Shtromberg wid t'ree blows av yer fisht.