“Well, at any rate, dinner-time was drawin’ near, and Paddy Scanlan was sittin’ comfortably wid his wife at the fire, the pudden boilin’ before their eyes when in walks Harry Connolly in a flutter, shoutin’ ‘Blood and blunder-bushes, what are yez here for?’
“‘Arrah, why, Harry—why, avick?’ said Mrs. Scanlan.
“‘Why,’ said Harry, ‘the sun’s in the suds, an’ the moon in the high Horricks! Here’s a clipstick comin’ on, an’ there you sit as unconsarned as if it was about to rain mether! Go out, both of you, an’ look at the sun, I say, an’ ye’ll see the condition he’s in—off!’
“‘Ay, but, Harry, what’s that rowled up in the tail of your cothamore (big coat)?’
“‘Out wid yez,’ says Harry, ‘an’ pray against the clipstick—the sky’s fallin’!’
“Begad, it was hard to say whether Paddy or the wife got out first, they were so much alarmed by Harry’s wild, thin face and piercin’ eyes; so out they went to see what was wonderful in the sky, an’ kep lookin’ in every direction, but not a thing was to be seen, barrin’ the sun shinin’ down wid great good-humour, an’ not a single cloud in the sky.
“Paddy an’ the wife now came in laughin’ to scould Harry, who, no doubt, was a great wag in his way when he wished. ‘Musha, bad scran to you, Harry—’ and they had time to say no more, howandiver, for, as they were goin’ into the door, they met him comin’ out of it, wid a reek of smoke out of his tail like a limekiln.
“‘Harry,’ shouted Bridget, ‘my sowl to glory, but the tail of your cothamore’s afire—you’ll be burned. Don’t you see the smoke that’s out of it?’
“‘Cross yourselves three times,’ said Harry, without stoppin’ or even lookin’ behind him, ‘for as the prophecy says, Fill the pot, Eddy—’ They could hear no more, for Harry appeared to feel like a man that carried something a great deal hotter than he wished, as anyone might see by the liveliness of his motions, and the quare faces he was forced to make as he went along.
“‘What the dickens is he carryin’ in the skirts of his big coat?’ asked Paddy.