"You can find me likely the name of a German who chose to delve into
Gaelic for his plot."

"You've a ready tongue."

"There are times when it's needed."

"As for the first harp," snapped Adam Craig, nettled, "there's a
Grecian lyre tale yonder on the shelf like it."

"Liar tale," said Kenny purposely misunderstanding. Hum! The Greeks,
he remembered regretfully, were clever adapters.

His air of assurance incensed the old man.

"As for that fool of a Cuchullin," he rasped, coughing a little, "where
is he different from Achilles?"

"A little different," said Kenny. "Achilles, poor old scout, was much
the inferior of the two."

Again in fury Adam Craig coughed until it seemed that his life must
end. Again he drank. Kenny knew by the flurried brightness of his
eyes sunk deep in the yellowed gauntness of his face that he was drunk.
He shuddered and rose. Already the old man's head was drooping toward
his chest in a drunken stupor. With an effort he roused and leered.

"Cinderella, damn you!" he said. "Cinderella and Achilles!"

"Cinderella," repeated Kenny pityingly. "Cinderella and Achilles."