"Oh, yes, I'm sure," I said. "Why?"
"Why! You have got slow. Just because I didn't say good-by to them
fellows up at the Pen, and--"
"Oh! You've escaped!"
"That's what. First jail-break in fifteen years. What d'ye think of
your Tommy, old girl, eh? Ain't he the gamest? Ain't you proud of
him?"
My God, Mag! Proud of him. He didn't know--he couldn't see--himself.
He, shut in like a wild beast, couldn't see what this year has done for
him. Oh, the change--the change in him! My boy Tommy, with the gay,
gallus manner, and the pretty, jolly brogue, and the laughing mouth
under his brown mustache. And this man--his face is old, Mag,
old--oh!--and hard--and--and tough, cheap and tough. There's something
in his eyes now and about his shaven mouth--oh, Maggie, Maggie!
"Look here, Nance." He caught me by the shoulders, knocking up my chin
so that he could look down squarely at me. "What's your graft? What's
it to be between us? What've ye been doing all this time? Out with
it! I want to know."