"You're a downy cove, Denny," laughed Joe, who caught a twinkle in the young Irishman's eye.
"That's true for ye, Joe," retorted the wit, surveying himself; "but, bhoys, why doan't ye's take me wid youse? Sure an' it's a foine shot Oi am."
"That's news, Denny. Didn't know you'd ever let off a gun."
"Manny an' manny's th' wan Oi've seen me farther bang off, annyways. Did youse never hear tell iv me farther's shutin'? Shure he was a sealabrity in Killarney!"
"Never. Tell us."
"Well, la-ads, wan da' he was rowin' th' Dook iv Dublhin, who was a g-rr-a-at sport, on th' woild la-a-kes iv Killarney. They was lukin' for dooks."
"Set a duke to catch a 'dook,' eh, Denny?"
"Be aisy, Marsther Joe. It's th' flyin' dooks Oi'me dascribin'. Be jabers! farther rowed about a tousan' moile, and th' only dook th' g-rr-a-at mahn shuted was a gull, though they was there in g-rr-a-at mobs."
"The gulls or the ducks, Denny?"
"If you'd 'a' bin there they wud 'a' bin two gulls, annyhow, me mahn."