"Well done, gentleman," interposed the poor Irish traveller, "this bates the cork jacket anyhow in life!"
"Who the devil are you, sir?" asked Shuffle, "and what business have you to crack jokes?"
"The only little objection that I see to your contrivance," continued Pat, "is that the patent shoe will be just after turning into a clog as soon as it gits under water, good luck to it."
"The devil take me if that warn't a capital joke! So well done, master Pat," said Hodson.
"Is that an Irish wig you have got on your head, Pat?" Shuffle asked, by way of being even with him.
"For God's sake sink the shop, Shuffle, and let's have a little genteel conversation," said Hodson, imitating Shuffle's late affectation of voice and manner.
"Pray what do you Irish know about wig-making?" asked Shuffle, disregarding Hodson.
"And may be you would not approve nather, of their nate, compact little fashion of breaking a head, perhaps?" inquired Pat very quietly.
"Come, come, my comical fellow," said Hodson, "don't be so hot. Mr. Shuffle only meant to remark that it was a pity to wear a red wig over your fine head of hair."
"Arrah, by my sowl! and is it under it you'd have me wear it?" asked the Irishman.