Santa. (to Gussie) Sir, I denounce you! Your scheme is a failure. My daughter’s mind remains unchanged. She is ready, even now, to fly to the end of the earth with this Hibernian babboon!
Gus. Your majesty I have done my best; what more could I do. It was a noble plan and worthy the great brain from which it sprang, but success and failures are not far distant and I have fallen just outside the foul-line.
O’Rourke. Yez is a quare birrud, Mr. Gus.
Santa. Yez, you have failed. And failed in such a way that the dread calamity which you have endeavored to avert is now nearer than before. What shall I do? What shall I do? Ah, that is the question; whether it were better to wed my daughter to this billy-goat and set at rest, at once, this most vexatious question, or look me further for a son-in-law. Ah! ha! I have a scheme! I’ll ask this man some questions in the presence of my vassals here. An examination I’ll conduct more strict than ever Civil Service knew. (to O’Rourke) Here sir, I would a word with you.
O’Rourke. All roight sor, apake out. Don’t be timid in the presence av royalty.
Santa. As the father of the girl, whose hand you seek in marriage, I claim the privilege of inquiring concerning your antecedents.
O’Rourke. Av coorse, av coorse.
Santa. Who was your great-grandfather?
O’Rourke. A man sor, and an Oirishman at that. He could foight sor loike a dog and drink the craythure loike a fish dhrinking wather. And such a jolly man he was too at a wake. Oi often wonder that the corpse itself didn’t come to loife to take a hand in the fistivities.
Santa. Your future prespect, sir, what are they? I mean—what shekels are at your command.