"Go on--go on!" I said, eagerly.
"About forty years ago," resumed the Major, placidly, "in the little,
old, unheard-of town Karnteel, County Tyrone, Province Ulster,
Ireland, Tommy Stafford--in spite of the contrary opinion of his
wretchedly poor parents--was fortunate enough to be born. And here,
again, as I advised you the other day, you must be prepared for
constant surprises in the study of Tommy's character."
"Go on," I said; "I'm prepared for anything."
The Major smiled profoundly and continued:--
"Fifteen years ago, when he came to America--and the Lord only knows
how he got the passage-money--he brought his widowed mother with him
here, and has supported, and is still supporting her. Besides," went
on the still secretly smiling Major, "the fellow has actually found
time, through all his adversities, to pick up quite a smattering of
education, here and there--"
"Poor fellow!" I broke in, sympathizingly, "what a pity it is that he
couldn't have had such advantages earlier in life," and as I recalled
the broad brogue of the fellow, together with his careless dress,
recognizing beneath it all the native talent and brilliancy of a mind
of most uncommon worth, I could not restrain a deep sigh of compassion
and regret.
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