thrown away as worthless; but at last we unearthed one. In it we
found the name of Budge Kennedy.

He had two sons--Patrick and Henry. One of these, Henry, we ran
down in the Mission. He was a great, red-headed, broad-shouldered
Irishman. He was just eating supper when we called; there were
splotches of white plaster on his trousers.

I came right to the point: "Do you know anything about this?" I
held out the ring.

He took it in his fingers; his eyes popped. "What, that! Well, I
guess I do! Where'd you get it?" He called out to the kitchen:
"Say, Mollie, come here. Here's the old man's jool!" He looked at
me a bit fearfully. "You aren't wearing it?"

"Why not?" I asked.

"Why? Well, I don't know exactly. I wouldn't wear it for a million
dollars. It ain't a jool; it's a piece of the divil. The old man
gave it to Dr. Holcomb--or sold it, I don't know which. He carried
it in his pocket once, and he came near dying."

"Unlucky?" I asked.

"No, it ain't unlucky; it just rips your heart out. It would make
you hate your grandmother. Lonesome! Lonesome! I've often heard
the old man talking."

"He sold it to Dr. Holcomb? Do you know why?"