A NOTEBOOK It seemed that Adam too could add his two and two.

In his quieter hours of pain, when every warmer instinct of his guest was uppermost, he was as curious as a woman.

His questions, put with the sad, querulous courtesy of an invalid claiming privileges by reason of his pain, were sometimes difficult to answer.
"Paul Pry!" murmured Kenny to himself one night.
Adam's sharp eyes snapped.
"Paul Pry, eh ?" he quivered.

"You impudent devil!" "A minute ago," reminded Kenny coldly, "when I told you you were drinking too much brandy, you said you were deaf to-night." "It's an intermittent affliction," purred Adam with a chuckle.

"You struck me in a minute of vacation." But the careless sobriquet of Kenny's rankled in the old man's mind and bore a startling aftermath of fruit.
Kenny was Irish and conversational.