"Then give it to me."—"I haven't it, sir."
"What do you mean?"—"He wouldn't give it to me, sir."
"Who wouldn't give it to you?"—"That owld chate beyant in the town,—wanting to charge double for it."
"Maybe it's a double letter. Why the devil didn't you pay what he asked, sir?"—"Arrah, sir, why would I let you be chated. It's not a double letther at all: not above half the size o' one Mr. Delany got before my face for fourpence."
"You'll provoke me to break your neck some day, you vagabond! Ride back for your life, you omadhaun! and pay whatever he asks, and get me the letter."—"Why, sir, I tell you he was sellin' them before my face for fourpence a-piece."
"Go back, you scoundrel! or I'll horsewhip you; and if you're longer than an hour, I'll have you ducked in the horse-pond!"
Andy vanished, and made a second visit to the post-office. When he arrived, two other persons were getting letters, and the postmaster was selecting the epistles for each, from a parcel of them that lay before him on the counter; at the same time many shop customers were waiting to be served.
"I'm for that letther," said Andy.—"I'll attend to you by-and-by."
"The masther's in a hurry."—"Let him wait till his hurry's over."
"He'll murther me if I'm not back soon."—"I'm glad to hear it."