"I am knowing how to be dealing with them. It will be all a matter of religious up-bringing, as Father Corrigan was saying. I have but to go to my devotions, and the devil will fly away with them."
"And supposing they have your purse?" said I. "The devil might fly away with them to an ill tune for you."
"When they are flying away with my purse," he replied suggestively, "they will be flying away with little of what could be called my ancestral wealth."
"You are natural rogues," said I, "you and Jem Bottles. And you had best not be talking of religion."
"Sure a man may take the purse of an ugly old sick monkey like him, and still go with an open face to confession," rejoined Paddy, "and I would not be backward if Father Corrigan's church was a mile beyond."
"And are you meaning that Father Corrigan would approve you in this robbery?" I cried.
"Devil a bit he would, your honour," answered Paddy indignantly. "He would be saying to me: 'Paddy, you limb of Satan, and how much did you get?' I would be telling him. 'Give fifteen guineas to the Church, you mortal sinner, and I will be trying my best for you,' he would be saying. And I would be giving them."
"You are saved fifteen guineas by being in England, then," said I, "for they don't do that here. And I am thinking you are traducing your clergy, you vagabond."
"Traducing?" said he. "That would mean giving them money. Aye, I was doing it often. One year I gave three silver shillings."
"You're wrong," said I. "By 'traducing' I mean speaking ill of your priest."