"I 'll sit down," replied the landlady, suiting the action to the words so vigorously that the attic rattled.
"Do you know, Mrs. Malone, I 've written you a song?"
"I wants no song. I have no notes in me voice."
"Faith," said Moore, with a chuckle, "we are alike then, for I 've none in my pocket."
"I wants me rint."
"Be easy, Mrs. Malone," said Moore, in a conciliatory tone and forthwith broke into song:
"Oh, the days are gone when beauty bright
My heart's chain wove--"
"Where is the rint?" interrupted the irate landlady, but Moore continued his singing, at the same time helping himself to a seat on the table beside her.
"When all my dreams by day or night
Were love, still love--"
"The rint is no dream," exclaimed Mrs. Malone, "and by gorry, I 'll have it, me canary-bird."