"They wor, yer honor, the most of 'em."
"Well, Pat?"
"Oh, they wor just there, that's all."
"Tim Brady should have got the top price for that oats of his, Pat."
"Maybe he might, Masther Thady."
"What did he get? there should be twelve barrels there."
"Eleven, or thereabouts, yer honor."
"Did he sell it all, yesterday?"
"Divil a grain, then, at all at all, he took to the fair yesterday."
"Bad manners to him, and why didn't he? why he owes" (and Thady turned over the old book) "five half years this gale, and there's no use gammoning; father must get the money off the land, or Flannelly will help himself."