"Bit be a dif--adher? O, be the
tares of war!" Then he asked Dave numerous questions as to how it
happened, which Joe answered with promptitude and pride. Dave simply
shrugged his shoulders and turned his face to the wall. Nothing was to be
got out of him.
Maloney held a short consultation with himself. Then--"Hould up yer hand!"
he said, bending over Dave with a knife. Dave thrust out his arm
violently, knocked the instrument to the other side of the room, and
kicked wickedly.
"The pison's wurrkin'," whispered Maloney quite loud.
"Oh, my gracious!" groaned Mother.
"The poor crathur," said Mrs. Maloney.
There was a pause.
"Phwhat finger's bit?" asked Maloney. Joe thought it was the littlest one
of the lot.
He approached the sofa again, knife in hand.
"Show me yer finger," he said to Dave.
For the first time Dave spoke. He said:
"Damn y'--what the devil do y' want? Clear out and lea' me 'lone."
Maloney hesitated. There was a long silence. Dave commenced breathing
heavily.
"It's maikin' 'm slape," whispered Maloney, glancing over his shoulder at
the women.
"Don't let him! Don't let him!" Mother wailed.
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