I tell ye it's the Christian he is!" He stopped abruptly.

"How me tongue runs on.

'Talkative McGinnis' is what the disrespectful ones call me--I'll run in after eight and mebbe I'll bleed him a little and give him something'll make him slape like a top till mornin'.

Good-bye to yez, for the present," and the kindly, plump little man hurried out with the faint echo of a tune whistling through his lips.
Angela sat down at a little distance from the sickbed and watched the wounded man.

His face was drawn with pain.