"Give me that shovel, or I'll knock bloody blazes out of yez."
Dennis at once stood on the defensive, and raised his tool threateningly. At the same time seeing a policeman, he called out, "Will you please cause this drunken fellow to move on?"
The officer was about to comply, when the Irishman, with a snort like that of a mad bull, rushed to the door of the art building, wrenched it open, and, leaving it so, tore down the long store, crying, "Misther Ludolph! Misther Ludolph! here's a bloody spalpane a-doin' my work."
He had scarcely got half-way to the office before there was a crash followed by a general commotion.
Pat, in his blind rage, and with steps uncertain from the effects of whiskey, had struck a valuable marble, and it lay broken on the floor. This catastrophe sobered him, and he stood looking in dismay at the destruction he had wrought. His employer, the gentleman whom Dennis had seen at the door, now appeared upon the scene in a towering passion, and scrupled not to heap maledictions upon the head of the unfortunate Hibernian.
"What do you mean by rushing through the store in this mad style?" he demanded.
"There's an impudent fellow outside a-doin' my work," said Pat.
"Why didn't you do it yourself, instead of going off to the gin-mills this morning? Didn't I warn you? Didn't I tell you your last spree should be the last in my employ? Now begone, you drunken idiot! and if you ever show your face on these premises again I'll have you arrested and compel payment for this marble, and it will take every cent you have in the world, and more too."
"Ah! Misther Ludolph, if ye'll only give me one more—"
"I tell you be off! or I will call the policeman at once."