window-ledge--"I'll have coffee if you'll offer it. Let me"--taking some
sugar--"eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow," he laughed--"why,
to-morrow I may have talked myself to death!"

Frank rose from his chair and stood by the chimney, regarding the
Irishman as one might have viewed a performer in a play, realizing to
the full what his mother had meant by the "charm of McDermott," for it
was a thing none could deny, for the subtle Celt complimented the ones
to whom he spoke by an approving and admiring attention, and conveyed
the impression that the roads of his life had but led him to their feet.

"To tell the truth," McDermott continued, noting and by no means
displeased by Frank's scrutiny, "I had heard ye were home, Mr. Ravenel,
and came early to see you with a purpose--two purposes, I might say.
First, I wanted to talk to you concerning Patrick Dulany, the overseer
whom I got for your mother last year. Ye've not see him yet?"

"I arrived only last night, Mr. McDermott," Francis answered.

"True, I'd forgotten. It's a strange life Patrick's had, and a sad one.
He's of my own college in Dublin, but a good dozen years older than I.
'Twas in India I knew him first. He's one of the Black Dulanys of the
North, and we fought side by side at Ramazan. What a time! What a time!
In the famous charge up the river, when we turned, I lost my horse, and
in that backward plunge my life was not worth taking. While I was lying
there half dead and helpless, this Dulany got from his old gray, flung
me across his saddle, and carried me nine miles back to the camp. Judge
if I love him!"

Mr. McDermott looked from the window with the fixed gaze of one