"Ye're an' illigant slip uv a pig, an'll make good mate to ralish the bread an' praties nixt winter, shure now, won't ye?" said Tim, addressing himself to the bristly porker who grunted his approval of his master's hand, as the two men leaned over the sty.
"I'd advase ye to kape a pig, Jack; ye've no idaya how handy a bit uv bacon is through the winter, wid so many mouths to be fadin'."
"You might just as well advise me to set up a carriage and pair," answered John, somewhat testily.
"Nonsinse, ye might do it jist as aisy as mesilf."
"I'd like to know how you make that out, when I never have a penny to bless myself with after I've paid up on Saturday nights."
"Jist tell me how much ye an' yer ould woman spind a week in beer," was the unexpected reply.
"At yer old game, matey, eh; well, really now, I can't say. Perhaps I take three pints a day; not much for a working man, Tim."
"An' maybe yer wife wad take a pint an' a half uv bitther, that wad make sixpence a day for yersilf, an' fourpence ha'pinny for hersilf; an' ye know ye ofthen spind more nor that. That 'ud make six shillin' an' a pinny three farthin's a wake; wan poun' six shillin' an' eight pince a month; an' sixteen poun' a year. How many pigs de ye sind down yer throats at that rate in the coorse uv twelve months, me bhoy?"
John Jarvis stood open-eyed and open-mouthed.
"Sixteen pound a year! What on earth have I been a doin'? Sixteen pound a year; who'd have thought it!" he ejaculated presently; and no more could Tim get out of him, till, late in the afternoon of that day, he emptied a hod of bricks at Tim's feet with such energy that Tim looked up astonished.