There was no mistaking the peculiar burr in the utterance of the last two words, but the foreman continued to regard the speaker with suspicious amazement.
“Phwat are ye, annyway?” he said with guarded brusqueness.
“A poor man, sir; I nade wurk.”
“Oi don’t mane that,” with less severity at this frank acknowledgment; “but where do yez hail from—Limerick or Jerusalem?”
At this pointed question, which promptly reminded Dennis of the singular contradiction he presented, he replied, with a genuine Celtic adroitness that had an immediate effect upon his hearer:
“Nayther; I got off at the midway junction.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the foreman, as he appreciated this clever explanation of the singular compromise presented by Dennis. “Shure, that’s not bad. By the mug ye wear, I wud advise ye to go to Baxther Street, but by the sound av ye, Oi rickommind th’ Broadway squad. Wurrk, is it? Why don’t ye presint that face at th’ front? I hear they’re shy on editors.”
“Shure!” said Dennis, who believed that he was progressing; “but the only things I iver wrote were store signs.”
“Ah, ha!” replied the foreman, “so it’s handy with th’ brush ye are.”
“Yes,” answered Dennis.