“‘I’ll do anything short of shootin’ a fellow-bein’,’ says I, ‘for that same.’
“‘Well,’ says he, ‘it’s lookin’ out for nate young fellows like yourself I do be, and if you’ll sail with me to a foreign shore, thir you’ll see what you’ll see.’
“‘I’m your man then,’ I says.
“‘You’ll have lashin’s o’ atin’ and drinkin’,’ says he, ‘and lashin’s o’ gold for the gatherin’, but there is one thing, and that isn’t two, which I must tell you; you’ll have to fight, Rory lad.’
“‘I’m your man again,’ says I. ‘Sure there isn’t a boy in all the parish I can’t bate black and blue before ye could sneeze. And I spat in my fist as I spoke.’
“‘Ah! but,’ says he, ‘the cave where all the gold is is guarded by the ugliest old goblin that ever was created. It is him you’ll have to help fight, Rory; it’s him you’ll have to help fight.’
“‘Och!’ I cries, ‘no matter at all, at all; the uglier the better, so long as he’s got the goold behind him. Rory will walk through him like daylight through a dishcloth. Hurrah!’
“And I began to jump about, and spar at all the ugly old imaginary goblins I could think of.
“The gintleman laughed.
“‘You’ll do fust-rate,’ he says, says he; ‘shake hands on the subject.’