“You will fall, Pat. Sit down. Here, steady, now. Give me some water quick. Have some water, Pat. He looks so queer. Oh! you feel all right, Pat?”
“I am not ailing. Why do you ask me if I feel all right? The only thing I see, I was standing up a while ago, and now I am sitting down.”
“Yes, Pat; you were acting very funny, and insisted on taking Officer Pearson to jail, instead of No. 78.”
“Faith, I think he will be there soon enough.”
“I don’t understand you. I am going to make you suffer for that talk. I shall not allow myself to be called a thief by my inferiors. I shall have a settlement with you, sir. Either you or I will leave here, and I think that you will be the one to go.”
“Don’t be too sure of that. You may be wearing stripes around here yourself, and I, the common Irishman, telling you what to do and throwing the bread and water at you.”
“Hey, Pat! What do you mean? Why are you doing all this talking? Are you accountable for what you are saying? I shall have to stop this talk at once. We are not in the habit of allowing our employees to talk in that manner.”
“I think that Pat has served his time here. He is beginning to think that he is the boss.”
“Well, I’d like to say the same thing about you in regard to serving time, but I don’t think you have started in on your time yet, and when your brother who is sitting here tells all he knows, you will be wearing his clothes and he will be wearing something better, for some of that money belonging to him which you have will enable him to do unto you as you should do unto him—and that is, help when in trouble.”
“Pat, I am speaking to you for the last time, and I shall have to discharge you if you do not quiet yourself.”