"'Och, the beauty of the wureld!' sez Tim, quite flusthrated. 'Call me Delaney, av ye pl'ase.'
"'Ah, I undherstand,' sez the ould squireen, wid a smile. 'The Delaneys is yer relashins.'
"Troth, an' indade they are,' sez Tim.
"'Thim's good blood, I does be thinkin',' sez the squireen.
"'Sorra betther to be found anywhere,' sez Tim.
"'I beg yer pardin, 'tis standin' ye are the while,' sez the ould jintleman. 'Will ye take a sate on the ottimin?'
"'Sure, 'tisn't the grand Turkey ye mane?' sez Tim, gettin' frikened.
"'Oh no,' sez the ould jintleman; ''tis the fine flahool stool standin' forenenst ye.'
"'Ayeh!' sez Tim. 'The ould name's the betther.'
"May be so,' sez the squireen, puttin' on his specktickles, an' starin' at Tim as if he wor a wild baste. An' sorry I am to tell ye that purty Miss Norah likewise hadn't no betther manners, but set starin' too at the bouchal wid her great black eyes.