Flattered, he looked profound.

“I’m thinking, sorr,” he gave judgment, “ye had the rights of it.  Seein’ as how th’ thafe is German, ye’ll not set eyes on him more—­for divil a wan here but’s of that counthry, and they stick together something fierce!”

“Well,” I admitted, “our thoughts run parallel.  Here is something to drink confusion to them all.  And, O’Reilly, I am glad I’m going to sail to-morrow.  I’d rather live on a sea full of submarines than in this hotel, wouldn’t you?”

Touching his forehead, he assented, and wished me good-night and a good journey; part of his hope went unfulfilled, by the way.  That ocean voyage of mine was to take rank, in part at least, as a first-class nightmare.  The Central powers could scarcely have improved on it by torpedoing us in mid-ocean or by speeding us upon our trip with a cargo of clock-work bombs.

CHAPTER III

ON THE RE D’ITALIA

The sailing of the Re d’Italia was scheduled for 3 P.M. promptly, but being well acquainted with the ways of steamers at most times, above all in these piping times of war, it was not until an hour later than I left the St. Ives, where the manager, by the way, did not appear to bid me farewell.

The thermometer had been falling, and the day was crisp and snappy, with a light powdering of snow underfoot and a blue tang and sparkle in the air.  Dunny accompanied me in the taxicab, but was less talkative than usual.  Indeed, he spoke only two or three times between the hotel and the pier.

“I say, Dev,” was his first contribution to the conversation, “d’ you remember it was at a dock that you and I first met?  It was night, blacker than Tophet, and raining, and you came ashore wet as a rag.  You were the lonesomest, chilliest, most forlorn little tike I ever saw; but, by the eternal, you were trying not to cry!”

“Lonesome?  I rather think so!” I echoed with conviction.  “Wynne and his wife brought me over; he played poker all the way, and she read novels in her berth.  And I heard every one say that I was an orphan, and it was very, very sad.  Well, I was never lonely after that, Dunny.”  My hand met his half-way.

The next time that he broke silence was upon the ferry, when he urged on me a fat wallet stuffed with plutocratic-looking notes.

“In case anything should happen,” ran his muttered explanation.  I have never needed Dunny’s money,—­his affection is another matter,—­but he can spare it, and this time I took it because I saw he wanted me to.

As we approached the Jersey City piers, he seemed to shrink and grow tired, to take on a good ten years beyond his hale and hearty age.  With every glance I stole at him a lump in my throat grew bigger, and in the end, bending forward, I laid a hand on his knee.

“Look here, Dunny,” I demanded, not looking at him, “do you mean half of what you were saying last evening—­or the hundredth part?  After all, there’ll be a chance to fight here before we’re many months older.  If you just say the word, old fellow, I’ll be with you to-night—­and hang the trip!”