Dutch! Who ’d ’a’ thought av that! Faith, he ’s the wunder av the wurrld!”
Barney carried himself as if he were all of that. “Don’t you open yer mouth, now, to nobody,” he ordered, “er you ’ll ditch the whole frame-up. Just show the letter to ’em—when it comes to-morrah—an’ if they want to see the policy let ’em have a squint at it. I got to have it back again to-morrah night, mind.”
Cooney put the paper in his inside pocket and buttoned his coat over it, reliably. “Trust me, boy. Trust me.”
“Well, I don’t trust you much,” Barney assured him cheekily, “but the plant ’s so good, you ’ll have yer own time crabbin’ it. Go ahead,” he concluded, in Babbing’s best manner, “an’ don’t try to lie too glib; that ’s all. Let them do their own thinkin’. I ’ll see you here on my way home to supper, to-morrah, eh?”
“Ye will that.” He pulled down his hat on his eyes, like a conspirator. “Trust me,
