Inimitable. Can you make figures?
Young Ireland. I can make a nought, which is not asy, being roond.
Inimitable. I say, old boy, wasn't it you I saw on Sunday morning in the hall, in a soldier's cap? You know—in a soldier's cap?
Young Ireland (cogitating deeply). Was it a very good cap?
Inimitable. Yes.
Young Ireland. Did it fit unkommon?
Inimitable. Yes.
Young Ireland. Dat was me!
There are two stupid old louts at the room, to show people into their places, whom John calls "them two old Paddies," and of whom he says, that he "never see nothing like them (snigger) hold idiots" (snigger). They bow and walk backwards before the grandees, and our men hustle them while they are doing it.
We walked out last night, with the intention of going to the theatre; but the Piccolomini establishment (they were doing the "Lucia") looked so horribly like a very bad jail, and the Queen's looked so blackguardly, that we came back again, and went to bed. I seem to be always either in a railway carriage, or reading, or going to bed. I get so knocked up, whenever I have a minute to remember it, that then I go to bed as a matter of course.