When the men had strung around the long table, Mike Hogan arose and the men became quiet as if at some preconcerted signal. The Irishman gave a slightly embarrassed bob toward Leonard and began in an extra rich brogue:
“Misther Madden, sir——”
Leonard glanced up in surprise. “What's worrying you, Mike?”
“Th' bhoys, sir, have been thinkin' as how we would loike to ixpress our appreciation av what ye've done for us, sir, in a little spache, something loike a little spache av wilcome, sir, an' asked me to do it, if ye don't moind.”
“Go ahead,” nodded Madden, “but don't expect much of a response from me. I'm no speaker and——”
“Go on, Mike!” “Go to it, Mike!” “Take a sip of water, Mike, like a reg'lar one, and cut loose.”
With this encouragement, the Celt moistened his dry lips, thrust out his chest, and after a momentary fumble, stuck three fingers in his shirt front.
“It's me pr-roud privilege, ladies and gintil-
