“Too many of ’em, mum, an’ it’s along wid dhrinkin’ toasts wid ’em that Larry got throwed. The punch that spalpeen has dhrunk this day would amaze ye. He give us the slip awhiles ago, bad cess to him, an’ come up here. Didn’t I tell ye, Larry, not to be afther ringin’ at the owle gintleman’s knocker? Ain’t ye got no sinse at all?”
“Misther Donnehugh,” responded Mr. O’Rourke with great dignity, “ye’re dhrunk again.”
Mr. Donnehugh, who had not taken more than thirteen ladles of rum punch, disdained to reply directly.
“He’s a dacent lad enough”—this to Mrs. Bilkins—“but his head is wake. Whin he’s had two sups o’ whisky he belaves he’s dhrunk a bar’lful. A gill o’ wather out of a jimmy-john’d fuddle him, mum.”
“Isn’t there anybody to look after him?”
“No, mum; he’s an orphan. His father and mother live in the owld counthry, an’ a fine, hale owld couple they are.”
“Hasn’t he any family in the town?”
“Sure, mum, he has a family; wasn’t he married this blessed mornin’?”
“He said so.”