“Musha, then, Misther Barres, ’tis why I come to ye above f’r to ax ye will ye look afther Dulcie av I go away on me thravels?”
“Yes, I will!... Where are you going? What is all this stuff you’re talking, anyway——”
“Shtuff? God be good to you, it’s no shtuff I talk, Misther Barres! Sure, can’t a decent man thravel f’r to see the wurruld as God made it an’ no harrm in——”
“Be careful what company you travel in,” said Barres, looking at him intently. “You have been travelling around New York in very suspicious company, Soane. I know more about it than you think I do. And it wouldn’t surprise me if you have a run-in with the police some day.”
“The po-lice, sorr! Arrah, then, me fut in me hand an’ me tongue in me cheek to the likes o’ thim! An’ 245 lave them go hoppin’ afther me av they like. The po-lice is ut! Open y’r two ears, asthore, an’ listen here!—there’ll be nary po-lice, no nor constabulary, nor excise, nor landlords the day that Ireland flies her flag on Dublin Castle! Sure, that will be the grand sight, with all the rats a-runnin’, an’ all the hurryin’ and scurryin’ an’ the futther and mutther——”
“What are you gabbling about, Soane? What’s all this boasting about?”
“Gabble is ut? Is it boastin’ I am? Sorra the day! An’ there do be grand gintlemen and gay ladies to-day that shall look for a roof an’ a sup o’ tay this day three weeks, when th’ fut o’ the tyrant is lifted from the neck of Ireland an’ the landlords is runnin’ for their lives——”
“I thought so!” exclaimed Barres, disgusted.
“An’ phwat was ye thinkin’, sorr?”
“That your German friends at Grogan’s are stirring up trouble among the Irish. What’s all this nonsense, anyway? Are they trying to persuade you to follow the old Fenian tactics and raid Canada? Or is it an armed expedition to the Irish coast? You’d better be careful; they’ll only lock you up here, but it’s a hanging matter over there!”