“Ye’er think-tank is overflowin’, shut it off!” growled Moloney.
“Sure, Moloney, ye’er voice is very wake! Ye’ll be faintin’ in a minute!” said Finnessy soothingly.
“I’ll not!” cried Moloney. “What’s eatin’ ye?”
“Poor old boy!” purred Finnessy, “ye’re in a disperate state. Ye must be rescued. I’m goin’ to take ye in!”
“How?” asked Moloney.
“I’m goin’ to take ye on me back and crawl in with ye. It’s me duty to do it, and England expicts every Irishman to do his duty! Me only reward will be ye’er gratitood!” said Finnessy.
Slowly the brilliant idea spread to the mind of Moloney.
“Sure, Finnessy,” said Moloney, “’tis brave and kind of ye, but I can’t accipt ye’er sacrifice. ’Tis ye’ersilf that must be saved. I can hear the trimble in ye’er speech. No one can say that a Moloney iver diserted a friend! I’ll take ye in if I die f’r it!”
“Don’t be a fool, Moloney, ye know ye’re waker than I am!”
“I’m not!” cried Moloney. “I’m as sthrong as a horse, and I am goin’ to save ye or perish in the attempt!”