"Sit down wid you," said Moriarty, pressing him down on the middle bucket and taking his seat on the bucket to the right, while Andy took his seat on the bucket to the left. "Sit down wid you, and listen to raison. Here's a glass of good whisky and wather, and here's a toast I'm goin' to give you, and that's 'Good luck to Garryowen!'" He swallowed the contents of the glass, wiped his mouth, refilled the glass, and passed it to Andy.
"Good luck to Garryowen!" said Andy, drinking it off, and handing the empty glass back to Moriarty, who refilled it and held it towards Piper.
"No, thank you," said that gentleman.
"Dhrink it off," commanded Moriarty, "and wish good luck to Garryowen. Sure, it's a glass of good whisky never did man or woman harm yet. Off wid it," continued Moriarty, in the tone of a person inciting a child to take a dose of medicine. "And it's a different man it will make of you."
"I tell you, I don't drink," replied the unconvivial one. "If you choose to make beasts of yourselves, do so. I don't."
"Listen to him, Andy," cried Moriarty, digging Piper in the ribs till he knocked against the jockey.
"Who're you jogglin' aginst?" cried Andy, returning the dig till Piper was nearly in the arms of Moriarty.
Mr. Piper tried to rise, but his legs were twitched from under him by Moriarty, and down he sat on the bucket again with a bang.
"You'll be breakin' the buckets next," said Moriarty. "Why can't you sit aisy?"
"I see your gime," cried the bailiff.