"We, Long? Don't you like Dr. Bethel?"
"Well, speakin' as an individual, I like him fust rate. I wuz speakin' as a good citizen, ye see; kind o' identifyin' myself with the common pulse," with an oratorical flourish.
"Oh, I do see," I responded, laughingly.
"Yis, we see!" broke in Barney, who had bridled his tongue all too long for his own comfort. "He's runnin' fur office, is Jim; he's afther wantin' to be alderman."
"Ireland," retorted Long, in a tone of lofty admonition, "we're talkin' sense, wot nobody expects ye to understand. Hold yer gab, won't yer?"
Thus admonished, Barney relapsed into silence, and Jim, who was now fairly launched, resumed:
"Firstly," said he, "the doctor's a leetle too good lookin', don't you think so?"
"Why, he is handsome, certainly, but it's in a massive way; he is not effeminate enough to be too handsome."
"That's it," replied Long, disparagingly; "he ain't our style. Our style is curled locks, cunnin' little moustachys, little hands and feet, and slim waists. Our style is more ruffles to the square fut of shirt front, and more chains and rings than this interlopin' doctor wears."