kind of Demonstration, in that they had but twelve Antique Dresses
of that sort, which were made on purpose for this particular Ballet.
That which made it seem the greater Mystery was, that when they came
behind the Scenes to uncase, and examine the Matter, they found but
twelve Antiques, whereas on the Stage there were thirteen . . ._"

"Let him say it. Let him say he didn't mean it, the rotten Irishman!"

Cooney flung a leg wearily over the side of his hammock, jerked himself
out, and shuffled across to the sick man's berth.

"Av coorse I didn' mane it. It just took me, ye see, lyin' up yondher
and huggin' me thoughts in this--wilderness. I swear to ye, George: and
ye'll just wet your throat to show there's no bad blood, and that ye
belave me." He took up a pannikin from the floor beside the bunk,
pulled a hot iron from the fire, and stirred the frozen drink.
The invalid turned his shoulder pettishly. "I didn't mane it," Cooney
repeated. He set down the pannikin, and shuffled wearily back to his
hammock.

The Gaffer blew a long cloud and stared at the fire; at the smoke
mounting and the grey ash dropping; at David Faed dealing the cards and
licking his thumb between each. Long Ede shifted from one cramped elbow
to another and pushed his Bible nearer the blaze, murmuring, "Take us
the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil our vines."

"Full hand," the Snipe announced.

"Ay." David Faed rolled the quid in his cheek. The cards were so thumbed
and tattered that by the backs of them each player guessed pretty