"Is that Frank O'Connell?" cried the little man.
"It is," said O'Connell, trying in vain to see the man's features
distinctly in the dim light. There was a familiar ring in his voice
that seemed to take O'Connell back many years.
"You're not tellin' me ye've forgotten me?" asked the little man,
reproachfully.
"Come into the light and let me see the face of ye. Yer voice sounds
familiar to me, I'm thinkin'," replied O'Connell.
The little man came into the room, took of his heavy silk-hat and
looked up at O'Connell with a quizzing look in his laughing eyes.
"McGinnis!" was all the astonished agitator could say.
"That's who it is! 'Talkative McGinnis,' come all the way from ould
Ireland to take ye by the hand."
The two men shook hands warmly and in a few moments O'Connell had
the little doctor in the most comfortable seat in the room, a cigar
between his lips and a glass of whiskey--and--water at his elbow.
"An' what in the wurrld brings ye here, docthor?" asked O'Connell.
"Didn't ye hear?"
"I've heard nothin', I'm tellin' ye."
"Ye didn't hear of me old grand-uncle, McNamara of County Sligo
dyin'--after a useless life--and doin' the only thing that made me
proud of him now that he's gone--may he slape in peace--lavin' the
money he'd kept such a close fist on all his life to his God-fearin'
nephew so that be can spind the rest of his days in comfort? Didn't
ye hear that?"
"I did not.
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