“‘Bad luck to ye,’ says he, ‘my bones is bruck wid yer thricks; what the divil are ye doin’ wid me?’
“‘Did ye hear anything quare, Thady?’ says the boy that was next to the car, turnin’ as white as the top iv a mushroom; ‘did ye hear anything quare soundin’ out iv the hamper?’ says he.
“‘No, nor you,’ says Thady, turnin’ as pale as himself. ‘It’s the ould gandher that’s gruntin’ wid the shakin’ he’s gettin’,’ says he.
“‘Where the divil have ye put me into?’ says Terence inside. ‘Bad luck to your sowls,’ says he; ‘let me out, or I’ll be smothered this minute,’ says he.
here’s no use in purtending,’ says the boy; ‘the gandher’s spakin’, glory be to God,’ says he.
“‘Let me out, you murdherers,’ says Terence.
“‘In the name iv the blessed Vargin,’ says Thady, ‘an’ iv all the holy saints, hould yer tongue, you unnatheral gandher,’ says he.
“‘Who’s that, that dar to call me nicknames?’ says Terence inside, roaring wid the fair passion. ‘Let me out, you blasphamious infiddles,’ says he, ‘or by this crass I’ll stretch ye,’ says he.
“‘In the name iv all the blessed saints in heaven,’ says Thady, ‘who the divil are ye?’