“Some men tried to stop him on the road. He's a despatch-rider.”
“Isn't he ugly? Is he English?”
“Irish.”
“You bet you, miss; Hirlanday; that's me.... You picked a good looker this toime, Yank. But wait till Oi git to Paree. Oi clane up a good hundre' pound on this job in bonuses. What part d'ye come from, Yank?”
“Virginia. I live in New York.”
“Oi been in Detroit; goin' back there to git in the automoebile business soon as Oi clane up a few more bonuses. Europe's dead an stinkin', Yank. Ain't no place for a young fellow. It's dead an stinkin', that's what it is.”
“It's pleasanter to live here than in America.... Say, d'you often get held up that way?”
“Ain't happened to me before, but it has to pals o' moine.”
“Who d'you think it was?
“Oi dunno; 'Unns or some of these bloody secret agents round the Peace Conference.... But Oi got to go; that despatch won't keep.”