"Between his finger and thumb you mean, for there's not a handful of it," said the squire.
"Well, sir," replied Tom Durfy, "little or much, I'll take charge of it.—That's right, my cock," said he to Murtough, who, notwithstanding his desire to assume a warlike air, could not resist the natural impulse of rubbing his back and shoulders, which tingled with pain, while he exclaimed "Satisfaction! satisfaction!"
"Very well," said the squire: "you name yourself as Mr. Murphy's friend?" added he to Durfy.
"The same, sir," said Tom. "Who do you name as yours?"
"I suppose you know one Dick the Divil."
"A very proper person, sir;—no better: I'll go to him directly."
The widow clung to Tom's arm, and, looking tenderly at him, cried "Oh, Tom, Tom, take care of your precious life!"
"Bother!" said Tom.
"Ah, Squire Egan, don't be so bloodthirsty!"
"Fudge, woman!" said the squire.