They had not a word to say for themselves.
No wonder that it took their breath away.
The Irish diver was the first to find his tongue.
"By the blessed piper that played before Moses, here's an Irish Turk!"
"Stop that!" ejaculated the slipper merchant; "av ye call me names, I'll have a go at yez av ye was as big as a house."
"Ye're Paddy from Cork," retorted the diver.
"Niver," protested the merchant, stoutly.
"Get along wid yez," retorted the diver, "ye Mahommedan Mormonite; now I'll take short odds to any amount up to a farden that that brogue came from Galway. Tell the truth, and shame the ould gintleman as shall be nameless."
The Turk had an inward struggle, and then he confessed. He was an Irishman, settled for some years in Turkey.
"But devil a word must ye say. Ye'll spoil me shop entirely," he said, "av the folks hereabout takes me for a Christian gintleman, and I shall be kilt intirely."