"Faix, he's always that," said the cook, scurrying across the kitchen for the gridiron.
"Oh! but he's beyant all to-night," said Mick; "I think he'll murther that chap up-stairs before he stops."
"Oh, wirra! wirra!" cried the cook; "there's the fire not bright, bad luck to it, and he wantin' a brile!"
"Bright or not bright," said Mick, "make haste I'd advise you, or he'll have your life."
The bell rang violently.
"There, do you hear him tattherin'?" said Mick, rushing up-stairs.
"I thought it was tay they wor takin'," said Larry Hogan, who was sitting in the chimney-corner, smoking.
"So they are," said the cook.
"Then I suppose, briled bones is genteel with tay?" said Larry.
"Oh, no; it's not for tay, at all, they want them; it's only ould Danger himself. Whenever he's in a rage, he ates briled bones."