person in all the physical graces. It would be quite easy to imagine that Barry Quinlevin could be quite as dangerous an enemy.

"Well, Harry boy, here I am," he announced, throwing open his coat with something of an air, and loosening his scarf.  "No worse than the devil made me. And ye're well again, they tell me, or so near it that ye're no longer interesting."

"Well, Harry boy, here I am," he announced, throwing open his coat with something of an air, and loosening his scarf.  "No worse than the devil made me. And ye're well again, they tell me, or so near it that ye're no longer interesting."

"Stronger every day," replied Horton cautiously.

"Stronger every day," replied Horton cautiously.

"Then we can have a talk, maybe, without danger of it breaking the spring in yer belfry?"

"Then we can have a talk, maybe, without danger of it breaking the spring in yer belfry?"

"Ah, yes,—but I'm a bit hazy at times," added Horton.

"Ah, yes,—but I'm a bit hazy at times," added Horton.

"Well, when the fog comes down, say the word and I'll be going."

"Well, when the fog comes down, say the word and I'll be going."

"Don't worry. I want to hear the news."

"Don't worry. I want to hear the news."

Quinlevin frowned at his walking stick.  "It's little enough, God knows."  Then glanced toward the invalid at the next window and lowered his voice a trifle.

Quinlevin frowned at his walking stick.  "It's little enough, God knows."  Then glanced toward the invalid at the next window and lowered his voice a trifle.

"The spalpeen says not a word—or he's afflicted with pen-paralysis, for I've written him three times—twice since I reached Paris, giving him the address. So we'll have to make a move."

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