I knew not a soul in your blessed
city. So I wabbled into a hospital and let them tuck me away in a cot.
Now grin, blast you! Yes, she was one of the day nurses, Katie McDevitt.
No raving beauty, you know. Ah, but the starry bright eyes of her, the
tender touch of her soft hand, and the quick wits under her white cap!
It wasn't just the mushy sentiment of a convalescent, either. Three
grand weeks afterwards I waited around, going walks with her in the
park, taking her on foolish steamer rides, sending her flowers, notes,
candy. We were rare spoons, and she was as good as she was witty. There
was an idyl for you! Then, when I woke up one day--why, I ran away
without a word! What else could I do? I was bound for an Australian
sheep ranch. And there I went. Since then not a whisper of her. By now
it's quite likely she's the wife of some lucky dog of a doctor, and
never gives me a thought. So why shouldn't I go back?"

"Because, you crack-brained Irishman," says Pinckney, "when you're not
maundering over some such idiocy as this, you're the most entertaining
good-for-nothing that ever graced a dinner table or spread the joy of
life through a dull drawing room. Come home with me for the week-end,
anyway."

"I'll not," says Larry. "I'm a pauper."

"Will you go with Shorty, then?" says Pinckney. "At times he's as absurd
as yourself."

"He's not asked me," says Larry.

"My tongue's drippin' with it," says I. "I had an own cousin come over
from Kerrymull. You'll be welcome."

"Done!" says Larry. "And for board and lodging I'll sing you Ballyshone
after dinner."

So he did too, and if you've ever heard it well sung, you'll know the
lump I had in my throat as I listened. Also I had him tell Sadie about
Katie McDevitt; and when he'd made friends with little Sully and the dog
we could have kept him for a year and a day.

But that Sunday afternoon, while we was swingin' out of the front gates
for a walk, we stops to let a limousine whizz by, and we gets a glimpse
of a woman's face through the windows.

"Lord love you, McCabe!" says Larry, grippin' me by the arm, "but who
was that?"

"In the car?" says I. "No one but Mrs. Sam Steele."

"Mrs., did you say?" says he.

"The rich widow," says I, "that lives in the big house over on the Shore
Drive." I pointed it out.

"A widow!" says he. "Thanks be! Shorty, she's the one!"

"Not your Miss McDevitt?" says I.

"No other," says he. "I'd swear it!"

"Then you're nutty in