Pat. Nayther I do. It’s a nob that I am. A gallon bottle of dam shame, an’ put it down on the slate.
Den. Well, I mane it would be a dale better if ye left alcoholic stimulants alone.
Pat. Alcoholic stimulants, is it? Missus Grady, are ye aware that yer brother spakes Frinch? It’s the great temperance man that he is who praches for love an’ not money.
Den. But, Patrick, think av the shame it causes your wife for you to walk home intoxicated every night av your life.
Pat. I niver walk home. Bedad Assemblyman Murphy pushed me around to me residence this avening in his barouche—he peddles oranges out av it in the daytime. Ah, the assemblyman’s a great man. He’s got a pull in the ward, and he’s going to get me a political job a kaping the sparrows from flying away wid the City Hall.
Den. But your wife and children are a-starving in the manewhile.
Brid. That’s so, Patrick.
Pat. Will yer shut up, Bridget? yer want ice-crame and sponge cake fer lunch, I suppose. The next thing yer’ll be sinding out afther broiled quail in a box afther yer get to bed. It’s too toney, you’re getting, entirely.
Den. Is that the way to spake to your wife?