“Whiskey is never mentioned.”
“Fighting is the only other national pastime. It must be in praise of sudden death?”
“You’re out again; but sure you’d never guess it,” said Mike. “Well, ye see, here’s what it is. It’s the praise and glory of ould Ireland in the great days that’s gone, when we were all Phenayceans and Armenians, and when we worked all manner of beautiful contrivances in gold and silver,—bracelets and collars and teapots, elegant to look at,—and read Roosian and Latin, and played the harp and the barrel-organ, and eat and drank of the best, for nothing but asking.”
“Blessed times, upon my life!” quoth the major; “I wish we had them back again.”
“There’s more of your mind,” said Mike, steadying himself. “My ancesthors was great people in them days; and sure it isn’t in my present situation I’d be av we had them back again,—sorra bit, faith! It isn’t, ‘Come here, Mickey, bad luck to you, Mike!’ or, ‘That blackguard, Mickey Free!’ people’d be calling me. But no matter; here’s your health again, Major Monsoon—”
“Never mind vain regrets, Mike. Let us hear your song; the major has taken a great fancy to it.”
“Ah, then, it’s joking you are, Mister Charles,” said Mike, affecting an air of most bashful coyness.
“By no means; we want to hear you sing it.”
“To be sure we do. Sing it by all means; never be ashamed. King David was very fond of singing,—upon my life he was.”
“But you’d never understand a word of it, sir.”