“Oh, he’s putt away in as nice and plisant a place as a gintleman could wish to have, sor. It’s cool, and undherground, and the only way to it is down through a hole in a stone like Father O’Grady’s well, and Bart fades him wid food at the ind of a long shtick. He’s safe enough now. But sure and the best thing for everyone would be for him to doi by accident through Bart forgetting to take him his mate.”
“Starve him to death?” cried Humphrey.
“Faix, no, not a bit of it, sor. He’s a bad one anny way, and if he died like a sparrow in a cage, sure it would be a blessing for all of us.”
“And the widow Greenheys, Dinny!”
“Whisht! be aisy, sor, wid a lady’s name.”
“Dinny,” cried Humphrey sternly, “how long are you going to play fast and loose with me!”
“‘An’ is it me ye mane?’ Sure I couldn’t do it, sor.”
“Dinny, now is the time to escape, now that Mistress Greenheys is safe from the persecution of that scoundrel.”
“Oh, whisht, sor! whisht! Sure and I’ve grown shtrong again, and ye want to timpt me from the ways of vartue.”
“Nonsense, man! Your plan—the explosion!”