Billy dropped his manure-fork as soon as Cully had moved on again,
and dodging behind the fence, followed him toward the post-office,
hoping to hit the singer with a stone.
When the slinking body of McGaw's eldest son became visible to Mr.
Crimmins, his face broke into creases so nearly imitative of a
smile that his best friend would not have known him. He slapped
the patched knees of his overalls gayly, bent over in a subdued
chuckle, and disported himself in a merry and much satisfied way.
His rum-and-watery eyes gleamed with delight, and even his
chin-whisker took on a new vibration. Next he laid one finger
along his nose, looked about him cautiously, and said to himself,
in an undertone:--
"The very boy! It'll fix McGaw dead to rights, an' ther' won't be
no squealin' after it's done."
Here he peered around the edge of one of O'Leary's drawn
window-shades, and waited until Cully had passed the barroom,
secured his mail, and started for home, his uninterrupted song
filling the air. Then he opened the blind very cautiously, and
beckoned to Billy.
Cully's eye caught the new movement as he turned the corner. His
song ceased. When Mr. Finnegan had anything very serious on his
mind he never sang.
When, some time after, Billy emerged from O'Leary's door, he had a
two-dollar bill tightly squeezed in his right hand.
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