And who was the nephew that came into it?"
"Meself, Frank O'Connell!"
"You! Is it the truth ye're tellin' me?"
"May I nivver spake another wurrd if I'm not."
O'Connell took the little man's hand and shook it until the doctor
screamed out to him to let it go.
"What are ye doin' at all--crushin' the feelin' out of me? Sure
that's no way to show yer appreciation," and McGinnis held the
crushed hand to the side of his face in pain.
"It's sorry I am if I hurt ye and it's glad I am at the cause. So
it's a wealthy man ye are now, docthor, eh?"
"Middlin' wealthy."
"And what are ye doin' in New York?"
"Sure this is the counthry to take money to. It doubles itself out
here over night, they tell me."
"Yer takin' it away from the land of yer birth?"
"That's what I'm doin' until I make it into enough where I can go
back and do some good. It's tired I am of blood-lettin', and
patchin' up the sick and ailin', fevers an' all. I've got a few
years left to enjoy meself--an' I'm seventy come November--an' I
mane to do it."
"How did ye find me?"
"Who should I meet in the sthreet this mornin'--an' me here a week--
but Patrick Kinsella, big as a house and his face all covered in
whiskers--him that I took into me own home the night they cracked
his skull up beyant the hill when O'Brien came to talk to us.
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