another toime, Ted Douglas! He is not wuth the mindin’, bhoy. He is a clattherin’ koradi shtick what will break over the fust knee that strains tu ut. He had not the pluck tu damn ye as he meant to du in the hate ov him. He was ’feared ov the bhoys—and good sinse tu him, tu! So he just run away out ov ut, leavin’ ye tu bear ut till he is safe. Ye’re on bail, Ted? Yes; of course. An’ Jimmie would have been that same if Murray had been an hour earlier. By the Howly Powers! nivir did I want tu break the Confessional harrder than I did whin he came tu me. Ut is broken tu you, Ted. Bhut even he trusted ye, the mane little snoipe!” Then the big hand came on Ted’s shoulder. “Ye must face it, bhoy. Ut is not the present disgrace ye’re moindin’. Bhut there were men before this day poured ahl the luve ov their hearrts intu dhirty little cans that wud howld bhut the half. Bedad! ut’s the dhirty little can an’ ahl that Jimmie is, Ted, bhoy.”
“Wait a bit,” said Ted. He was breathing heavily, and through the twilight Father Denis could but guess at the force controlling voice and body. “Jimmie’s my mate. If he telled you he done—all this, then he done it. He wouldn’t stick to it before the boys.”
Father Denis remembered the pitiless questioning which had drawn the bald truth from Jimmie.
