THE SILVER FOX 21 



break his neck was what he done. Didn't 

 he walk out over the brink o' the hiz sand- 

 pit in Cashel the same as one that wouldn't 

 have the siglith, an' he a fine soople man no 

 more than seventy years ? 'Twas like a 

 reelin' in the head the crayture got." 



The tone was that of cautious supposition, 

 and it was easy to discern the desire of 

 contradiction. 



** 'Twas no reeling," said Tom Quin, sud- 

 denly addressing the company in a loud 

 voice. " I know well what was on him, 

 and so do thim that was lookin at him. 

 'Twas a start he took, the same as if he seen 

 somethin' followin' him. And I hope in 

 God I'll be dead to-morrow if it isn't thrue 

 what Fm sayin', that if he didn't put his 

 hand to the Park-na-Moddhera to sell it he'd 

 be dhrinkin' his glass in the fair of Letter 

 Kyle this day." 



His auditors exclaimed, groaned, and 

 crossed themselves. All present, except 

 the publican, knew every detail connected 

 with Danny Quin's death, but they knew 



