“Well, thin,” pursued Jerry, taking instant advantage of the other’s confusion, “egor, ’t was as a traitor ye were tried an’ condimned an’ sintenced, while ye lay, sinseless wid that whack on the head. There wor thim that w’u’d--uv--uv--well, not seen ye wake this side of purgatory, or wherever else ye had yer ticket for. But there was wan man that saved yer life from the rest--and he said: ‘No, don’t kill him, an’ don’t bate him or lay a finger to him, an’ I’ll be at the expinse of keepin’ him in a fine, grand place by himsilf, wid food of the best, an’ whishky aich day, an’ books an’ writin’s to improve his learnin’, an’ no work to do, an’ maybe, be the grace o’ God, he’ll come to think rightly about it all, an’ be ashamed of himsilf an’ his dirty doin’s, an be fit ag’in to come out an’ hold up his head amongst honest min.’ That’s the m’anin’ of what he said, an’ I’m the man he said it to--an’ that’s why I’m here now, callin’ ye by yer right name, an’ tellin’ ye the thruth.” Linsky hesitated for a minute or two, with downcast gaze and fingers fidgeting at the ends of his waist-cord. Then he lifted his face, which more than ever seemed all brow and eyes, and looked frankly at Jerry. “What ye say is a surprise to me,” he began, choosing his words as he went. “Ye never let on what your thoughts were concernin’ me, an’ I grew to forget how it was I came. But now you spake of it, sure ’tis the same to me as if I’d niver been thinkin’ of anything else. Oh, thin, tell that man who spoke up for me, whoever he may be, that I’ve no word but praise for him. ’T was a poor divil of a wake fool he saved the life of.” “Wid a mixin’ of rogue as well,” put in Jerry, by way of conscientious parenthesis. “’Tis the same thing--the worst fool is the rogue; but I tuk to ’t to keep soul an’ body together. Sure, I got into throuble in Cork, as manny another boy did before me, an’ fled to Ameriky, an’ there I listed, an’ came in at the tail of the war, an’ was shot down an’ robbed where I lay, an’ was in the hospital for months; an’ whin I came out divil a thing was there for me to putt me hand to; an’ the Fenians was started, an’ I j’ined ’em. An’ there was a man I knew who made a livin’ be sellin’ information of what winton, an’ the same offer came to me through him--an’ me starvin’; an’ that’s the way of it.” “An’ a notorious bad way, at that!” said Jerry, sternly. “I’m of that same opinion,” Linsky went on, in all meakness. “Don’t think I’m defindin’ meself. But I declare to ye, whin I look back on it, ’t is not like it was meself at all.”