Take breath, man alive—What of Catty?
Pat. Catty! Oh, murder! No time to be talking of Catty now! Sure the shupervizor’s come to town.
O’Bla. Blood!—and the malt that has not paid duty in the cellar! Run, for your life, to the back-yard, give a whistle to call all the boys that’s ricking o’ the turf, away with ‘em to the cellar, out with every sack of malt that’s in it, through the back-yard, throw all into the middle of the turf-stack, and in the wink of an eye build up the rick over all, snoog (snug).
Pat. I’ll engage we’ll have it done in a crack. {Exit PAT.
O’Bla. (calling after him) Pat! Pat Coxe! man!
Re-enter PAT.
O’Bla. Would there be any fear of any o’ the boys informin?
Pat. Sooner cut their ears off! {Exit PAT.
Enter Old McBRIDE, at the opposite side.
Old McB. (speaking in a slow, drawling brogue) Would Mr. Gerald O’Blaney, the counsellor, be within?