"An' a divil sight less at yours," retorted the tramp. "But by the same token, we both get our rosy by manes of our heels."
"Shure fir ye, lad. Its hard up I've been myself before the now, but its a cold day when Barney O'Hara will let a bog-trotter go dry—name your poison."
"Its the rale ould stuff I'll be a takin' straight," and the tramp spread his elbows on the counter and soon demonstrated his ability to gulp down the fiery fluid without any such effeminate trimmings as water in it. After the first glass had been emptied the tramp said:
"I've had a bit of luck to-day; what's your medicine?"
"The same," responded Barney.
The liquor was poured into the glasses, and the tramp, diving deep in his pockets, drew out some small silver currency, and, with a movement expressive of untold wealth, threw it on the counter.
As he did so, the bar-keeper uttered an oath of astonishment, several of the roysterers sprang forward, and Barney, with an exclamation of amazement, put his hand on a Pinkerton detective star, with its terrible eye in the center, which had fallen on the counter with the nickles and dimes the tramp had thrown down.
Dark looks and murderous eyes were turned on the tramp, and more than one hand was placed on a revolver, The bar-keeper with an ugly look, and bullying swagger, stepped from behind the bar and advanced on the tramp, his face distorted with rage, and his fists doubled in a most aggressive manner.
The tramp, without moving, and apparently ignorant of the sensation he had created, raised his glass to his lips, and with a hearty "Here's to ye, lads," tossed off the whisky.
As he replaced his glass, he became aware that he was the center of attention, and facing the bar-keeper, said: