Nicolovius, so he told Queed, was not an American at all, but an
Irishman, born at Roscommon, Connaught. His grandfather was a German,
whence he got his name. But the lad grew up in the image of his mother's
people. He became an intense patriot even for Ireland, an extremist
among extremists, a notorious firebrand in a land where no wood glows
dully. Equipped with a good education and natural parts, he had become a
passionate leader in the "Young Ireland" movement; was a storm-centre
all during the Home Rule agitations; and suddenly outgrew Ireland
overnight during the "Parnellism and Crime" era. He got away to the
coast, disguised as a coster, and once had the pleasure of giving a lift
in his cart to the search-party who wanted him, dead or alive. This was
in the year 1882.
"You were mixed up in the Phoenix Park murders, I daresay?" interjected
Queed, in his matter-of-fact way.
"You will excuse my preference for a certain indefiniteness," said
Nicolovius, with great sweetness.
On this side, he had drifted accidentally into school-teaching, as a
means of livelihood, and stuck at it, in New York, St.
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