“Change!” cried Abel. “You can’t go with us.”
“Sure, and you forced me to come, and ye wouldn’t behave so dirthily as to send me back?”
“But we’re escaping,” said Bart.
“Sure, and I’ll escape too,” said Dinny, smiling. “It’s moighty dull work stopping there.”
“But you’re a soldier,” said Abel.
“To be sure I am—a sowldier of fortune.”
“You’ll be a deserter if you stop with us,” growled Bart.
“The divil a bit! Ye made me a prishner, and I couldn’t help meself.”
“Why, I wanted you to go back last night!” growled Bart.
“To be ate up entoirely by the ugly bastes of dogs! Thank ye kindly, sor, I’d rather not.”