“Misther Fanshawe!” said Paddy Murphy, as he took his seat on the sack.
“Yes?”
“I’m powerful dhry.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
“Sure, I’m not a dhromedary to be drinkin’ wather at this hour of the night,” said Mr Murphy in a wheedling tone.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Dicky. He shut the door and locked it.
“He can have the mattress off my bed, sir,” said Patsy.
“Yes, that’ll do. And, see, here Patsy, run up to the dining-room and get a glass of whisky for him out of the tantalus stand; give him a good big one.”
Five minutes later Mr Fanshawe re-entered the potato room followed by Patsy dragging the mattress.
Mr Murphy was smoking a short black pipe.