AMONG THE IRISH
However, the butcher and I parted company. I went back to the tavern I had been resting at, and explained matters to the landlady and her good master. He did not receive me very acceptably, and told me that he “could sleep on a clothes-line this weather.” I didn’t like to contradict him. His wife rather pitied me, and said there were half-a-dozen harvesters in the taproom and I might arrange to spend the night with them. Acting on the principle that half-a-loaf is better than no bread, I allowed the landlord to introduce me to the company in the taproom. The company consisted of half-a-dozen Irish harvesters “on the spree.” “Can you take this man as a lodger?” asks the landlord. “Oh, yes, if he behaves himself,” one readily exclaimed, and another chimed in, “If he doesn’t, be jabers! we’ll mak’ him.” I fully ingratiated myself into their good graces for the night by “standing a gallon round.” I took part in the general amusement, and sang for them the song, “Shan Van Vocht,” in Irish Gaelic, until they all swore I was a countryman of theirs. The night wore on with song and clatter, And ah! the ale was growing better.