Dan. Say! where’s the president of this here road? Say!
Hard. Is that car going?
Fin. Fetch on your conveyance, ould chap.
Green. One at a time, if you please. (To Dan.) I am the president. What do you want?
Dan. Well, say, old cove, what do yer mean by keepin’ folks waitin’ in this style, say?
Fin. Faith, ould gint, if yer don’t spake up, there’ll be “say” enough to dhrown ye.
Green. There’s a little delay on account of the strike.
Fin. Sthrike, is it? A sthrike, bedad! I’m on hand like a picked-up dinner. I sthruck a blow for ould Ireland in Can-a-dy, and then I sthruck for home; and, bedad, I’ll sthrike for any thing at all, at all.
Dan. I say, Pat, hush yer jaw; we’ll jest clean out this institution.