"We've got to go an' shoot some ducks."
"That all?"
"That all, ye cauld-blooded Scotchman!"
"An' when have we to go?"
"Now, at once, immediately, if not sooner, ye spalpeen."
"Ye're an odd mixture of Scotch an' Irish this morn, me hairy-breasted hero, an' a bad hand at either. But why all the hurry about the ducks?"
"Your mother's just got word to say some chaps are coming out from Tareela to dinner this evening, an' they're sure to expect game."
"All serene. Tom comin'?"
"No, he ain't. He's out with Harry on the run. There's only you an' me for't."
"I'll be with you in a jiff, my son. Just finishing this bar."