Although Jim saw that Mike was apparently in sport, he knew that the offer of a cash reward for his own betrayal was indeed a sore temptation to him.

“Did ye tell ’im anything, Mike?” inquired Jim, solemnly.

“Divil a bit.”

“An’ ye knowed I’d lick ye if ye did.  Ye knowed that, didn’t ye?”

“I knowed ye’d thry it faithful, an’ if ye didn’t do it there’d be niver a man to blame but Mike Conlin.”

Jim said no more, but went to work and got a bountiful supper for Mike.  When he had finished, he took him over to Number Ten, where Harry and Turk were watching.  Quietly opening the door of the cabin, he entered.  Benedict lay on his bed, his rapt eyes looking up to the roof.  His clean-cut, deathly face, his long, tangled locks, and the comfortable appointments about him, were all scanned by Mike, and, without saying a word, both turned and retired.

“Mike,” said Jim, as they retraced their way, “that man an’ me was like brothers.  I found ‘im in the devil’s own hole, an’ any man as comes atween me an’ him must look out fur ’imself forever arter.  Jim Fenton’s a good-natered man when he ain’t riled, but he’d sooner fight nor eat when he is.  Will ye help me, or won’t ye?”

Mike made no reply, but opened his pack and brought out a tumbler of jelly.  “There, ye bloody blaggard, wouldn’t ye be afther lickin’ that now?” said he; and then, as he proceeded to unload the pack, his tongue ran on in comment. (A paper of crackers.) “Mash ’em all to smithereens now.  Give it to ’em, Jim.” (A roasted chicken.) “Pitch intil the rooster, Jim.  Crack every bone in ’is body.” (A bottle of brandy.) “Knock the head aff his shoolders and suck ’is blood.” (A package of tea.) “Down with the tay!  It’s insulted ye, Jim.” (A piece of maple sugar.) “Och! the owld, brown rascal! ye’ll be afther doin Jim Fenton a bad turn, will ye?  Ye’ll be brakin ’is teeth fur ’im.”  Then followed a plate, cup and saucer, and these were supplemented by an old shirt and various knick-knacks that only a woman would remember in trying to provide for an invalid far away from the conveniences and comforts of home.

Jim watched Mike with tearful eyes, which grew more and more loaded and luminous as the disgorgement of the contents of the pack progressed.

“Mike, will ye forgive me?” said Jim, stretching out his hand.  “I was afeared the money’d be too many for ye; but barrin’ yer big foot an’ the ugly nose that’s on ye, ye’re an angel.”

“Niver ye mind me fut,” responded Mike.  “Me inimies don’t like it, an’ they can give a good raison fur it; an’ as fur me nose, it’ll look worser nor it does now when Jim Fenton gets a crack at it.”

“Mike,” said Jim, “ye hurt me.  Here’s my hand, an’ honors are easy.”

Mike took the hand without more ado, and then sat back and told Jim all about it.