"I will work, I will beg, I will die, for my Patrick," she exclaimed, and pressed the child closer to her breast.
"You had better be barring the dying, honey," returned Larry; "and wouldn't a raffle, think ye, among friends, be more gintale thin begging among strangers?"
"Ohon! and is it friends you say?" replied she.
"Yes, shure, and it is friends that I say," answered Larry; "and a raffle is what no gintleman need be ashamed on."
The boat at this moment stopped opposite an inn at the side of the canal; Larry borrowed a quart measure from the skipper, and sprang ashore. In a few minutes he returned with a quantity of rum, and, handing it first to the wife, and then to her lame husband, said, "Come, warm up thy ould bones with a drop of the cratur." He called the rest of his countrymen around him, and handed the liquor to each. When gathered together, there might be about sixteen or eighteen of them in all.
"Arrah, now, and these are all my men," said Mister Larry M'Carthy, with a look of comical consequence, to his infirm countryman; "and where would you be finding better? We are goin up to a bit of work in Lancashire; for the Inglish are no better than born childer at our work;[8] and," raising the liquor to his head, he added, "here's the Holy Virgin be with us, countryman, and better luck to your bad leg; and, should it ever be mended at all—though you mayn't be good for much at hood-work iny more, you have still a stout bone for a barrow—and you won't be forgetting to ask for Larry M'Carthy. And, now, boys," continued he, turning to his workmen, "here is this poor man, and more than this, I'm saying, our own lawful countryman, with the rheumatiz and a broken leg, and his wife, too, as you see, and those three little cherubims, all starving, to be sure, and he going to the doctor's without a penny! Sure you won't disgrace Ould Ireland—just look at the childer—and I say that a raffle is the gintale way of doing the thing."
So saying, he thrust his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a small canvas bag well filled with silver, and tied round the mouth with a strong cord. He took off his indescribable brown hat; he threw in a piece or two of silver, and went round, shaking it among his countrymen. Each took out a bag similar to Larry's, and threw his mite into the hat. He then, without counting them, emptied its contents into the lap of the poor woman; and I should think, from their appearance, they must have amounted to thirty or forty shillings. She burst into tears. The lame man grasped his hand, and endeavoured to thank him.
"Don't be after spakeing," said Larry; "did you think we warn't Christians?"
Such was the Irish raffle. Larry instantly resumed his jokes, his jests, and his arguments; but I could do nothing during the rest of the passage but think of the good Samaritan, and admire Mister Larry M'Carthy.