“Can I what?”
“Bray like an ass,” replied the other, taking the pistol from his breast.
“Put it back!” cried Con. “Sure, I’ll bray like a hundred asses, if yiz give me the word.”
“Sthrike up, thin.”
Con brayed.
Mr Murphy put his pistol back.
“That’s not so bad,” said he, “but it’s not parfect. Stick out your head, rowl up your lip, now—let fly.”
The noise was repeated.
“Faith, your voice has saved your life,” said Mr Murphy. “Turn your back.” In a second he had mounted pick-a-back again.
“Now, aff we go!” cried Mr Murphy. “Jay up.”