“That’s my meaning,” replied Mr Murphy. “Hand me the rabbit till I stick him on the spit, for it’s hungry I am and I wants me breakfast.” He put the rabbit to roast by the fire he had built, and then he went on. “That’s my meaning; but to get into the house there’s only one way, and that’s to slip a gossoon through the little scullery window; and there’s only one gossoon of me acquaintance I’d trust with the job, and this is him.” He suddenly pounced on Patsy. “Now then, Patsy,” said he, “confess your sins before I makes a freemason of you. When did you say the quality was coming to the Big House?”
“This day week,” replied Patsy; “and don’t be twistin’ me arm, it’s the truth I’m telling you.”
“Are you wishful and willin’ to get through the window and open the door to us?”
“No—yes—ow, let go of me arm!” shrieked the unfortunate Patsy, whose arm had received a sudden twitch from behind that nearly wrenched if from the socket.
“Wishful and willin’?” reiterated Mr Murphy.
“Yes!” cried Patsy.
“Will yiz swear to do me biddin’?”
“I will.”
“Will yiz swear to be ready and waitin’ for us whenever we want you, which won’t be before this day week?”
“I will.”