takes its pleasure in kind; and each man, the world through, would at one time or other uphold his private courage through payment forced thereby from another.
“We has my sympathy,” said Danny, plunging into the dark. “All on us ’cept that blazin’ comic in the lead. Give Lou a little bit o’ Hell-fire ter play with, an’ he’d feed himself into the flame fer the fun of it.”
“Get out,” said Steve. “Father Denis calls him the flower of the flock. I won’t deny as he’s a pretty rank bloomer when he’s set in a soil that suits him—Mogger, if that ole broken-winder o’ yours expects ter fin’ oats in my pocket———”
“He was lookin’ for suthin’ green fur a relish,” explained Mogger. But he was not there when Steve’s fist shot out.
Derrett’s shop rose at the corner, and Lou swung to the left, up a side-street where the young moon hung ahead. The creak of leather and the anger of chilled horses under the bit brought a bellow from a low cottage-door.
“Hallo, bhoys! Liftin’ cattle tu-noight?”
Murray turned in the saddle to answer, and Lou cried:
“Father Denis—say a mass for his soul if we find him.”
The hoofs passed, and the priest stood still, his fat chin shut into his hand. He knew men;
