"Howld yer decateful tongue, you circumventin' ould tory," cried Dan, shaking his fist in the other's face, rendered almost beside himself by the allusion to his lost treasures; "do you mind this, you chatin' disciple, av you dare to brag ov havin' any property in them two people I'll give your dirty sowl notice to quit the tinimint that it's insultin' every second o' time you dhraw a breath."
"How can you help yerself, I'd like to know?" demanded Bulworthy, in an insolent tone. "Doesn't Peg belong to me now, an' the child?"
"Be the mortial o' war, av ye don't stop your tongue from waggin' in that way, bad luck to me av I don't take ye be the scruff o' the neck, an shake ye out o' me skin, you robber," shouted Dan, still more furiously—unfortunately losing sight of his discretion in the blindness of his rage, for Bulworthy, thinking he saw a gleaming of hope, determined to pursue his advantage; so he continued:
"The devil a toe will you ever come near them again, my fine fella. Possession's nine points of the law; an' as it's your own countenance that I'm carryin', you can't swear me out o' my position. More betoken, there's no use in yer gettin' obsthropulous, for I've only to dhrop the lapstone gingerly upon yer toes, to make you yell out like a stuck pig."
At hearing these conclusive words, Dan's policy and his philosophy fled together, and he poured forth the feelings of his heart without concealment or restraint.
"You murdherin' ould vagabone," he cried; "you've got the upper hand of me, an' full well you know it; the divil take yer dirty money, that's weighin' down my pockets; but weighin' my heart down more nor that, av it wasn't that I don't know exactly what harum I'd be doin' to meself; may I never sin av I wouldn't pelt the life out o' you wid fistfulls of it; but it sarves me right, it sarves me right," he went on, swaying his body to and fro, as he sat on the little stool. "Oh! wirra, wirra! what a born natheral I was to swap away my darlin' Peg, that's made out of the best parts of half a dozen angels, for that wizen-faced daughter of ould Nick beyont; an' the blessed babby, too, that's so fresh from the skies that the smell o' Heaven sticks about him yet; to get nothin' for him but a pair of legs that can't lift me over a thranieen; oh! it's mad that it's dhrivin' me, intirely."
"Don't take it so much to heart; gruntin', and growlin', an twistin' yerself into a thrue lover's knot, won't do any good now, you know," said Bulworthy, with a quiet smile.
"I know it won't, and that's what makes me desperate," replied Dan, starting up, with clenched teeth, and a dangerous glance in his eye.
"One word for all," he continued, "are you going to give me back meself?"
"I'd be a purty fool to do that, accordin' to your own story," said the other, calmly, now tolerably sure of his ground.