"'I'll see that,' sez he. An' up stairs he goes an' opens the thrunk, an' looks over the clo'es, an' the dimont pins, and the goold watch, an' the chains an' rings galore; an', sure enough, they wor all there nate an' nice, as Ally Bawn said when the six childher fell into the saft of the bog. Oh, murther, but now comes the sthrangest part of the sthory. When Tim seen the things forenent him, an' how b'utyful they wor, he begins to wondher how he'd look in thim; an' thin he looks at his own coorse clothes, all plasthered and besmudthered over wid the dirthy wather of the road.
"'How will I carry the masther's letther to the big house, an' I lookin' for all the wureld like a dirthy bogthrotter?' sez he. 'Sure I'd be shamefaced to show myself in dacent company. 'Tis a mighty fine thing to be a jintleman,' sez he, lookin' at the thrunk ag'in. 'Oh, but thim's the grand coats, an' pantalloons, an' goolden things,' sez he; 'sure, I thinks the likes of 'em wor niver seed afore. May be,' sez he, coagitatin' the matther—'may be Misther Maurice wouldn't be onaisey if I loaned thim of him for a bit while, ispishilly as it's his sarvice that I'll be on. Sure, 'tis no harum to thry if they fits me,' sez he. An', begorra, afore he know'd it, he wor dhressed in thim b'utyful garmints, an' lookin' grander nor iver he did in his mortial life. Prisently, he flings back the dure, an' discinds the stairs wid all the goold chains a danglin' about his neck, an' wid a fine goold watch fasthened by a raal dimont pin to the breast of his flowery silk weskit: 'For,' sez he, 'sure they wouldn't know I had sich purty things, if I didn't show thim.'
"'Oh, but it does my heart good to see sich a han'some jintleman!' sez the misthress of the house, makin' a low curchey. 'Didn't I know,' sez she, 'yer honnor wor the raal quality the minnit I seen the shine of yer face at the dure. Indade, an' faix, it's the thruth I'm sayin', plase goodness.'
"'Arrah, now, be done wid yer blarney,' sez Tim, flourishin' a white han'kercher as wor sthronger wid sint nor a flower-garden. 'Don't conthaminate yer centhrifujals bu spakin' so odoriferously,' sez he; 'but tell me, like the dacent woman ye are, where'll I sarch for a barber?'
"'That's aisey,' sez she; 'for sure there's wan next dure to the corner.'
"So, wid that, out goes Tim, houldin' up his pantaloons wid both hands to keep thim clane, an' prisently he steps in at the barber's shop as bould as a lord.
"'Barber!' sez he.
"'Sir,' sez a little thin-shanked man.
"'Shave me,' sez Tim, settin' hisself down in the big chair, while the little man wor sthrappin' away at the razhier. 'Aisey, my good man,' sez Tim, 'an' cut the stubble clane.'
"'Oh, I'll do that same,' sez the barber. 'Be du husht, av ye plase.' An', afore Tim could say Larry Houlaghan, his beard wor off.