"Miserable, eh?" replied the other, with a chirp. "Is it me miserable, wid such a home as this?"
"It's all over," thought Dan, "the ould brute's as happy as a bird. Bad luck to the minute that my own pelt made a cage for him."
"Go home," Bulworthy continued, with a grin. "Home to yer wretched hospital of a gazebo."
"Wretched!" retorted Dan, "you wouldn't call it wretched if you saw the dinner I had to-day; enough, yer sowl to glory, to satisfy half a dozen families."
"That were starvin' around you," cried Bulworthy, with a severe internal spasm, induced by the mention of the dinner.
"Aha! you're beginnin' to think of that now, are you?" said Dan, tauntingly. "How do you like dinin' on spoonfuls of air, and rich men's promises to pay? Bedad, I'm thinkin I have the best of you there."
"Hould yer prate, you ould Turk, an' give me me shillin'," roared Bulworthy, getting impatient.
"The divil a shillin' you get out o' me, that I can tell you. I've got the upper hand of ye this time, an' I'll keep it. It's hungry enough that you've seen me before now, an' tit for tat's fair play all the world over."
"He's content and comfortable, there's no mistake about that," thought Bulworthy, "and I'm booked for starvation all the rest of my miserable days."
"Gout's my lot; I can see that with half an eye," said Dan to himself. "The ould blaggard will never consent to get into these legs again."