“Deed, thin, an you’ll find me comin down some night,” said Pat, “ony maybe I mightn’t iver git down there. Maybe the same thing that would dhrive me down might prevint me goin down.”
“Well, then, I’ll tell you what to do: you yell like Old Harry, and I’ll go up.”
“You’d niver get up.”
“Never get up? Why not?”
“It wouldn’t let you.”
“It? What It?”
“Why, It—the wan that walks.”
“The one that walks? That’s just what it doesn’t do. It’s very bad at walking.”
“You’d soon see, if ye’d iver find him. Any how, he’d shtop yer comin till my room.”
“Stop me? Nonsense! How can it stop me, when it’s in the cupola?”