“No. You couldn’t get ’em on again, p’r’aps, when we’re called, and I don’t want any such foolishness as that. When we get out, it’ll have to be at the drop of the hat--double quick. How many rounds of cartridges you got?” “This bag of mine they gave me is that filled wid ’em the weight of it would tip an outside car.” “Can you shoot?” “I don’t know if I can. I haven’t tried that same yet.” A long silence ensued, Zeke squatting on a cracker-box beside the fire, flask in hand, Linsky concentrating his attention upon the warmth at the soles of his feet, and drowsily mixing up the Galtee Mountains with the fire-crowned hills of a strange, new world, upon one of which he lay. Then all at once he was conscious that Zeke had crept into the tent, and was lying curled close beside him, and that the fire outside had sunk to a mass of sparkless embers. He half rose from his recumbent posture before these things displaced his dreams; then, as he sank back again, and closed his eyes to settle once more into sleep, Zeke spoke: “Don’t do that again! You got to lie still here, or you’ll bust the hull combination. If you want to turn over, tell me, and we’ll flop together--otherwise you’ll have the thing down on our heads.” There came another pause, and Linsky almost believed himself to be asleep again. But Zeke was wakeful. “Say, Irish,” he began, “that country of yourn must be a pretty tough place, if this kind of thing strikes you fellows as an improvement on it.” “Sur,” said Linsky, with sleepy dignity, “ther’s no other counthry on earth fit to buckle Ireland’s shoe’s--no offence to you.” “Yes, you always give us that; but if it’s so fine a place, why in ------ don’t you stay there? What do you all pile over here for?” “I came to America on business,” replied Linsky, stiffly. “Business of luggin’ bricks up a ladder!” “Sur, I’m a solicitor’s clark.” “How do you mean--‘Clark?’ Thought your name was Linsky?” “It’s what you call ‘clurk’--a lawyer’s clurk--and I’ll be a lawyer mesilf, in toime.” “That’s worse still. There’s seven hundred times as many lawyers here already as anybody wants.” “I had no intintion of stoppin’. My business was to foind a certain man, the heir to a great estate in Ireland, and thin to returrun; but I didn’t foind my man--and--sure, it’s plain enough I didn’t returrun, ayether; and I’ll go to sleep now, I’m thinkin’.” Zeke paid no attention to the hint. “Go on,” he said. “Why didn’t you go back, Irish?”