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 was all as crazy about our parents as they are about us, we ’d none of us be leavin’ home to marry, an’ there ’d soon be no childurn in the world at all. That ’d never do. Never. You must n’t expect it, man.”

“I don’t, m’am,” poor Cooney defended himself. “All I wanted of them was a corner be the fire, in the houses I gave thim.”

“Well, say,” Barney cut in, “if you had a couple thousan’ dollars—er so—in the bank, it ’d make a change, wouldn’t it?”

“Make a change, lad?”

“Yes. They ’d like y’ a lot more if you had somethin’ to make it worth while, eh?”

Cooney rubbed his forehead. “What ’s that? Say that ag’in.”

“It ’s because you ’ve got nuthin’ more to give them—is n’t it? That ’s why they’re so snooty?”

“Boy,” he confessed, “I suppose ’tis so, but I take shame to think it.”

“Well, then,” Barney said, “if you c’n keep yer mouth shut, I c’n put somethin’ over.”