Jerry entered, greeted his acquaintances, and hung up his coat.
“Goin’ to the wake?” asked he of O’Hara.
“’Twuld be but daysint fer me till pay my rayspects till the family. Are yez goin’ yezself?”
“Sure! There’ll be a mob there, though.” Then turning to the youth in the scarlet tie he inquired: “Well, what d’ye know, McGonagle?”
Mr. McGonagle had just finished a graphic description, for the benefit of his right-hand neighbour, of the last performance of a “brass back” cock, the victorious veteran of a score of mains, and answered affably:
“Nothin’ much. On’y the selectman’s the sorest mug ye ever put yer lamps on. If ye’d touch him wit’ a wet finger, he’d sizzle.”
“Arrah, yer right, Goose,” confirmed Burns. “I stopped intill his place for a sup av drink as I wur comin’ by, an’ from the talk av him yez’d t’ink young Murphy had put his hand intill his money drawer.”
“Divil mend him!” said Clancy.
“I heard,” said McGlory, “that Mary Carroll wasn’t left a cent.”
“D’ye tell me so?” O’Hara was greatly interested.