awthin' to break th' silence,'
he says, 'but th' roarin' iv th' ocean,' he says; 'an' that sounds
nat'ral,' he says, 'because 'tis almost like th' sound iv th' stock
exchange,' he says. 'A man,' he says, 'that has th' ticker eye,' he
says, 'or th' coupon thumb,' he says, 'is cured in no time,' he says.
'Come,' he says, 'fly with me,' he says. 'They'se nawthin' to keep ye
here,' he says. 'Ivry wan iv th' cab'net, includin' th' Sicrety iv
War, 'll stick to his place,' he says, 'like a man,' he says.

"An' Mack wint with him. He was settin' on th' beach in a goold chair,
surrounded be millyionaires, with th' prisident iv a bank fannin' him
an' th' threeasurer iv a dimon' mine poorin' his dhrink; an', though
he was feelin' well, they was something on his mind. 'What ails ye?'
ast Hanna. 'I was thinkin',' says Mack, 'how pleasant 'twud be if me
ol' frind Tom Reed was here,' he says. ''Twud be Paradise if he was
here,' he says, whin, lo an' behold, who shud come acrost th'
dimon'-studded beach, wadin' through th' bank-notes that 'd been
dropped be th' good farmers iv Shekel Island, but Tom Reed.

"Well, sir, to see th' affection that those two great men showed at
th' encounther 'd dhraw tears fr'm th' eyes iv a hear-rt iv sthone.
'Tom,' says Mack, in faltherin' accints, 'where have ye been? F'r days
an' days I've skinned yon blue horizon f'r anny sign iv ye,' he says.
'An' ye come not,' he says. 'I didn't think I cud miss ye so,' he
says. 'Embrace me,' he says, 'if ye ar-re not ar-rmed,' he says.
'Mack,' says me frind Tom Reed, with tears in his eyes, 'this,' he
says, 'is th' happiest moment iv me life,' he says. 'I cudden't,' he
says, 'I cudden't stay in Wash'nton,' he says, 'with you so far away,'
he says, 'where I cudden't watch ye,' he says. 'Ye're th' on'y man
in th' wurruld I care f'r,' he says, 'but mesilf.' he says. 'An',' he
says, 'I'd fall weepin' on ye'er shoulder this minyit,' he says; 'but
I don't want to be disrayspectful be turnin' me back on Misther
Hanna,' he says.

"'Well,' says Mack, 'sit down,' he says. 'Rockyfeller,' he says, 'tell
Morgan f'r to fetch up a kag iv sherry wine,' he says. 'Tom,' he
says, 'we've been frinds f'r years,' he says. 'We have,' says Tom.
'We've concealed it fr'm th' vulgar an' pryin' public,' he says; 'but
in our hear-rts we've been frinds, barrin' th' naygur dillygates at
th' convintion,' he says. ''Twas a mere incident,' says Mack. 'We've
been frinds,' he says; 'an' I've alway