"What's that to you?" said Andy.
The postmaster, laughing at his simplicity, told him he could not tell what letter to give him unless he told him the direction.
"The directions I got was to get a letther here,—that's the directions."
"Who gave you those directions?"—"The masther."
"And who's your master?"—"What consarn is that o' yours?"
"Why, you stupid rascal! if you don't tell me his name, how can I give you a letter?"—"You could give it if you liked; but you're fond of axin' impidint questions, bekase you think I'm simple."
"Go along out o' this. Your master must be as great a goose as yourself to send such a messenger."—"Bad luck to your impidince!" said Andy; "is it Squire Egan you dar to say goose to?"
"Oh, Squire Egan's your master, then?"—"Yis; have you anything to say agin it?"
"Only that I never saw you before."—"Faith, then you'll never see me agin if I have my own consint."
"I won't give you any letter for the squire, unless I know you're his servant. Is there any one in the town knows you?"—"Plenty," said Andy; "it's not every one is as ignorant as you."