"Fire away, ye spalpeens, for all the good it may do ye," called out the
Irishman, who at this moment clambered out of range and sank down upon the
ground.

"Begorrah, I'm as tired as Jim O'Shaughnessey after his friendly match
with his wife," gasped Mickey, speaking shortly and rapidly, as best he
could, while he leaned over upon his elbow, until he could regain his
strength and wind.

It required but a short time, when he reached his hand to the lad, and
shook it for the third or fourth time, smiling at the same time in his old
jolly way, as he rose rather unsteadily upon his pins.

"I'll have to wait a while till the kink gets out of me legs, before I
give ye the Donnybrook jig, but I make the engagement wid ye, and the
thing is down for performance, do ye mind that? And now, me laddy, we must
thravel. Are ye hungry?"

"Yes."

"I have a bite saved that'll do ye till the morrow. When ye waltzed out
the cave and left me to meself, I felt there was no knowing how long I'd
have to stay behind, so I knocked off both eating and drinking, with the
idea of getting used to going without anything."

As they were able to talk more understandingly, the two explained their
experiences since they had parted. They could not fail to be interesting
in both cases. When they had finished, Mickey O'Rooney had about recovered
from the terrible strain he had undergone in clambering out the cave,