"Wud ye luk at 'im!" Jamie exclaimed.
"I've lived with th' mother ov invintion since I was th' size ov a mushroom," he said between the puffs, "an begorra she's betther nor a wife." The odor filled the house. It was like the sweet incense of a censer. The men laughed and joked over the discovery. The sweep indulged himself in some extravagant, self-laudatory statements, one of which became a household word with us.
"Jamie," he said as he removed his pipe and looked seriously at my father, "who was that poltroon that discovered tobacco?" Anna informed him.
"What'll become ov 'im whin compared wid O'Hare, th' inventor of th' rosemary delection? I ax ye, Jamie, bekase ye're an honest maan."
"Heaven knows, Billy."
"Aye, heaven only knows, fur I'll hand down t' m' future ancestors the O'Hara brand ov rosemary tobacco!"
"Wondtherful, wondtherful!" Jamie said, in mock solemnity.
"Aye, t' think," Anna said, "that ye invinted it in our house!"
We forgot our hunger pangs in the excitement. Jamie filled his pipe and the two men smoked for a few minutes. Then a fly appeared in the precious ointment. My father took his pipe out of his mouth and looked inquisitively at Billy.
"M' head's spinnin' 'round like a peerie!" he exclaimed.