"Faix, sorr, I'm on'y a poor ould man, an' it's not for the likes o' me to insthruct a gintleman like you; but, av I'm not greatly mistaken, you've heard His voice more than wance or twice in yer life already, an' yer own heart'll tell you betther than I can what it sounds like." "Friend, your eyes are clearer than mine. Still, it will please me if you get up, and let me walk a little way with you. Or, if you don't feel able to walk, allow me to take you to your destination in a cab." His new acquaintance rose, nimbly enough. Then Power saw that he had been using a bundle of newspapers as a cushion. "A cab, is it?" laughed the other. "My! but money must come aisy your road, a thing it 'ud nivver do for me, thry as I might, an' I was a hard worrker in me time. But I'd sooner walk. I'm feelin' a thrifle shtiff, an' I haven't far to go." "May I come with you?" "Ye may, an' welcome. It's a mighty pleasant thing to have a fri'ndly chat wid a man who has sinse enough to wear fine clo'es an' talk like the aristocracy, an' yet not be ashamed to be seen sp'akin' to wan o' my sort." "Will you think it rude if I inquire what you mean to do with those newspapers? Surely, at your age, you don't sell them in the streets." "Faith, I'll have to thry my hand at it now, an' no mistake. Me grandson, Jimmy Maguire, was run over this afthernoon by an express van, an' he's up there at the hospital in West 16th Street. Jimmy is all that is left betune me an' the wall, an' I'm goin' now to give in his returns. Mebbe the newspaper folk will let me hould his stand till the docthors sind him out." "And if they don't?" "Sure, sorr, God is good to the poor Irish." "I hope so, most sincerely. Still, a newspaper is a commercial enterprise, and the publisher may think you unequal to the job. What then?" "Thin? I'd take a reef in me belt for breakfast, an' spind a p'aceful hour in the cathaydral, that dhrame in shtone up there on Fifth Avenue. Don't ye remimber that verse in the Psalms, 'I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken nor his seed begging bread.' Manny's the toime thim worrds have consoled me whin iverything looked black, an' I was throubled wid quare thoughts, bein' nigh famishin' wid hunger." "Have you actually wanted food--here, in this great city?" The old fellow laughed merrily. Evidently, he found the question humorous. "Sure, I've had the misforchunes of Job," he said. "First, I lost me darlin' wife. Thin I lost me job as a buildher's foreman. I had two sons, and wan was dhrowned at say, an' the other was killed in a mine----" "In a mine? What sort of mine?" "A gold mine, at a place called Bison, in Colorado." "When?" "Nine years ago last Christmas?" "Was his name Maguire?" "No, sorr--Rafferty. A foine, upshtandin' boy he was, too." Power recalled the incident. Indeed, he had helped to clear the rockfall which crushed the life out of the unfortunate miner. But he gave no sign of his knowledge.