He then left them enjoying the intended “spree,” and went back to Ellish.
“Well, I’m sure, Ellish, if any one had tuck their book oath that you’d refuse my father’s son sich a thrifle, I wouldn’t believe them. It’s not wid Pether’s knowledge you do it, I’ll be bound. But bad as you thrated us, sure we must see how the poor fellow is, at any rate.”
As he spoke, and before Ellish had time to prevent him, he pressed into the room where Peter lay.
“Why, tare alive, Pether, is it in bed you are, at this hour o’ the day?”
“Eh? What’s that—who’s that? Oh!”
“Why, thin, the sarra lie undher you, is that the way wid you?”
“Oh!—oh! Eh? Is that Condy?”
“All that’s to the fore of him. What’s asthray wid you, man alive?”
“Throth, Condy, I don’t know rightly. I went out, wantin’ my coat, about a week ago, an’ got cowld in the small o’ the back: I’ve a pain in it ever since. Be sittin’.”
“Is your heart safe? You have no smotherin’ or anything upon it?”