Come! Spake up, and show yer foine bradin! Och! Hear that! “How air yez, Owld Moke?”
Arrah, millia murther! Did iver yez hear jist the aqual iv that?
“How air yez, Owld Moke?” says he! Ha! Ha! Sure, yer honor, he manes it in joke!
He’s the playfullest b’y! Faith, it’s laughin’ at Teddy that makes me so fat!
Honest? Troth he is that! Yez can t’hrust wid onything. Honest! Does he luk like a b’y that ’ud stale?
Jist luk in the swate, open face iv him, barrin’ the eye wid the wink:--
Och! Teddy! Phat ugly black st’hrame is it runnin’ down there by yer hale!
Mutheration! Yer honor, me Teddy has spilt yer fine bottle iv ink![[3]]
Phat? How kem the ink in his pocket? I’m thinkin’ he borry’d it, sir;--
And yez saw him pick up yer pin-howlder and stick it up intil his slaive!