“Yes,” said Julius, admiringly.
“There’s lots of chaps would give all they could make on shines in a week, to hev their names put up there,” said Pat, confidentially.
“I’d like it myself,” said Julius.
“Ef you wos goin’ to stay in the city, I’d learn you some jigs,” said Pat, “and see what you was made of. It isn’t every feller that can make a good jig dancer.”
“How are you, Miles?” said a large boy, slapping Pat on the shoulder. “I guess you’ll have a good house.”
“I hope I will. Dave, this is a friend of mine. He ain’t been to the Oprea House before.”
“Glad to see yer,” said David Conroy, with dignified affability. “Hope yer’ll get yer money’s worth.”
To this Julius made a suitable reply.
“Dave is stage manager,” said Pat. “He kin do anything, kin Dave. He painted the sceneries; you’ll see ’em bimeby, and he’s the best actor we’ve got. He’s captain of the Mulligans. There ain’t nothin’ that feller{15} can’t do,” concluded Pat, with unmistakable admiration expressed in his tone.
“Where do you get your plays from, Pat?”