“And where do you sail to, sir?” says I.
“New York,” replied he.
“Where’s that, if it’s plasin’ to you, sir?” says I.
“In Amerikay,” says he; “the land of the brave, and the home of the free!”
“Amerikay!” broke in my cousin. “My sister’s wife’s uncle has a son there—a tall young man, badly pock-marked, with a slight cast in his left eye, and hair as red as a fox. Lanty O’Gorman is the name he has upon him. He has been there two years and better. Mayhap you have met him?”
“I dar say I have,” said the stranger, laughing heartily.
“Would you take a message to him, sir?” asked my cousin.
“I’d be everlastingly delighted,” says he, “but there’s a dale of O’Gormans about; and as most of them are pock-marked, squint, and have red heads, I’m afraid I’d be bothered to know him. Do you think that young shaver would remimber him?”
“Faith and troth I would, sir,” says I, “by rason of the leathering he gave me onct for making an April fool of him, telling him the chickens the ould hen had hatched from the ducks’ eggs had tuck to the water, and if he didn’t hurry and get them out of the pond, every mother’s son of them would be drownded!”
“Wal,” said the stranger, “it’s an almighty pity you ain’t there to see him. The man I know of the name of O’Gorman is as rich as mud; and if he took a liking to you, he could make your fortune right off the reel in less than no time!”