Flannery: Ah, what umbrella? There's no fear
of rain.
Conan: (Taking it.) You to have proffered it
I would not refuse it.
Flannery: (Seizing it.) I don't know. I have
to mind my own property. It might not serve
it to be loaning it to this one and that. It might
leave the ribs of it bare.
Conan: That's the way with the whole of ye. I
to give you my heart's blood you'd turn me upside
down for a pint of porter!
Flannery: I see no sense or charity in lending to
another anything that might be of profit to myself.
Conan: Let you keep it so! That your ribs may
be as bare as its own ribs that are bursting out
through the cloth!
Rock: Do not give heed to him, Conan. There
is in this bag (takes it out) what will bring you every
whole thing you might be wanting in the town.
(Takes out notes and gold and gives them.)
Conan: It is only a small share I'll ask the lend of.
Rock: The lend of! No, but a free gift!
Conan: Well now, aren't you turned to be very
kind? (Takes notes.)