“I know, I know.”

“I’ll tell ye one thing,” said the other, wiping his forehead with the black handkerchief, “and that’s this, my boy:  last night’s business has just about put the cap on the Beach fer me.  I’m sick of it and I’m tired of it!  I’m ready to quit, sir!”

Joe looked at him sharply.  “Don’t you think my old notion of what might be done could be made to pay?”

Sheehan laughed.  “Whoo!  You and yer hints, Joe!  How long past have ye come around me with ’em! `I b’lieve ye c’d make more money, Mike’—­that’s the way ye’d put it,—­`if ye altered the Beach a bit.  Make a little country-side restaurant of it,’ ye’d say, `and have good cookin’, and keep the boys and girls from raisin’ so much hell out there.  Soon ye’d have other people comin’ beside the regular crowd.  Make a little garden on the shore, and let ’em eat at tables under trees an’ grape-arbors—­’ "

“Well, why not?” asked Joe.

“Haven’t I been tellin’ ye I’m thinkin’ of it?  It’s only yer way of hintin’ that’s funny to me,—­yer way of sayin’ I’d make more money, because ye’re afraid of preachin’ at any of us:  partly because ye know the little good it ’d be, and partly because ye have humor.  Well, I’m thinkin’ ye’ll git yer way.  I’m willin’ to go into the missionary business with ye!”

“Mike!” said Joe, angrily, but he grew very red and failed to meet the other’s eye, “I’m not—­”

“Yes, ye are!” cried Sheehan.  “Yes, sir!  It’s a thing ye prob’ly haven’t had the nerve to say to yerself since a boy, but that’s yer notion inside:  ye’re little better than a missionary!  It took me a long while to understand what was drivin’ ye, but I do now.  And ye’ve gone the right way about it, because we know ye’ll stand fer us when we’re in trouble and fight fer us till we git a square deal, as ye’re goin’ to fight for Happy now.”

Joe looked deeply troubled.  “Never mind,” he said, crossly, and with visible embarrassment.  “You think you couldn’t make more at the Beach if you ran it on my plan?”

“I’m game to try,” said Sheehan, slowly.  “I’m too old to hold ’em down out there the way I yoosta could, and I’m sick of it—­sick of it into the very bones of me!” He wiped his forehead.  “Where’s Claudine?”

“Held as a witness.”

“I’m not sorry fer her!” said the red-bearded man, emphatically.  “Women o’ that kind are so light-headed it’s a wonder they don’t float.  Think of her pickin’ up Cory’s gun from the floor and hidin’ it in her clothes!  Took it fer granted it was Happy’s, and thought she’d help him by hidin’ it!  There’s a hard point fer ye, Joe:  to prove the gun belonged to Cory.  There’s nobody about here could swear to it.  I couldn’t myself, though I forced him to stick it back in his pocket yesterday.  He was a wanderer, too; and ye’ll have to send a keen one to trace him, I’m thinkin’, to find where he got it, so’s ye can show it in court.”