"Did you ring, mate?" the boy said.
"Yes, I'll take a glass of colonial ale."
"All right," he replied, and went away to get it.
Now he had not been gone a minute, when I suddenly remembered whose face he was the image of. He was as like Pat Kineen, our messenger, as two split peas are like each other. I heard him coming back.
"Your name might be Kineen?" I said.
"It is that same, shure!"
"And the other name may be Patsy?"
"Shure, you've hit the bull's-eye! It is."
I had made a bold guess. I said, "I've come from your father. He and I are chums."