They've got me, the thieves!"
said Crozier, with a look which gave his long face an almost tragic
austerity. Then suddenly the look changed, the mediaeval remoteness
passed, and a thought flashed up into his eves which made his expression
alive with humour.
"Isn't it wonderful, that just when a man feels he wants a rope to hang
himself with, the rope isn't to be had?" he exclaimed. "Before he can
lay his hands on it he wants to hang somebody else, and then he has to
pause whether he will or no. Did I ever tell you the story of the old
Irishwoman who lived down at Kenmare, in Kerry? Well, she used to sit at
her doorway and lament the sorrows of the world with a depth of passion
that you'd think never could be assuaged. 'Oh, I fale so bad, I am so
wake--oh, I do fale so bad,' she used to say. 'I wish some wan would
take me by the ear and lade me round to the ould shebeen, and set me
down, and fill a noggen of whusky and make me dhrink it--whether I would
or no!' Whether I would or no I have to drink the cup of self-denial,"
Crozier continued, "though Bradley and his gang have closed every door
against me here, and I've come back without what I went for at Aspen
Vale, for my men were away. I've come back without what I went for, but
I must just grin and bear it.
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