"'Bedad, but there's some thruth in that,' sez the squireen, 'barrin' the manner of expressin' it.'
"'Arrah, thin,' sez Tim, 'I'm pl'ased to hear ye say so; an', if it's agreeable to yees, we'll dhrop the discourse for the prisint. To tell ye the blessed thruth, Misther O'Brien, 'tis dead bate wid the long thravel I am, an', wid your permission, I'll be bould to throuble yer sarvint to fling me a clane lock o' sthraw in one corner of yer honor's kitchen for the night.'
"Oh, but may be the ould squireen didn't stare at Tim wid all his eyes in raal arnest, thin—
"'Sthraw!' sez he. 'Do ye take this for a boccoch's shealin'? Well, I must say, Misther Delaney Sullivan,' sez he, 'that, for a jintleman's son, born an' brid, 'tis monsthrous quare ways ye have.' An', wid that, he rings for the futman, an' tells him to show Tim to bed. 'I'll be wantin', Misther Sullivan, to spake the sarious word wid ye the morrow morn,' sez the ould man, dhrawin' hisself up grand like; 'for, on my conscience, there's many things about ye as does be puzzlin' me exthramely.'
"''Tis no matther,' sez Tim to hisself, follyin' afther the sarvint. 'Sure, I'm in for it now, anyhow. Ayeh! is thim the stairs? Musha, thin, but 'tis wide enough they are for a drove of fat cattle. Hould on a bit, will ye, or I'll be fallin' over the ballisthers. I wonder where thim crass passiges lades too beyant? Sure, I'd give all I'll be like to have in the wureld to quit the place. Och, Tim Delaney, 'tis a bad ind ye're comin' to wid settin' yerself up for a jintleman; an', begorra, if the young masther murdhers ye enthirely, it sarves ye right, any way, an' that's no lie.'
"'Will ye be pl'ased to inter?' sez the sarvint, throwin' open the dure of a big room, where the windys wor all ornaminted wid b'utyful curt'ins, an' likewise the grate bed wid goold angels at the corners of the posts, lettin' alone the fringes an' the tassels, an' many other b'utyful things too tadious to mintion.
"'Och,' sez Tim, 'is that my bid? How will I git in widout tumblin' myself on the flure? Thim steps, did ye mane? Arrah, now, have done wid yer nonsince! Sure, I niver heard of goin' to bid wid a step-laddher afore.'
"'Thim's the fashi'n,' sez the futman.
"'To the divil wid the fashi'n!' sez Tim. 'What are ye laughin' at, ye ugly spalpeen? L'ave the light, an' go. Oh, murther!' sez Tim, whin he was all alone by hisself. 'If I wor out of this scrape, a thousand goold guineas wouldn't timpt me to do the likes agin.'
"An', wid that, he sarches the windys, manein' to make his escape, but they wor too high; an' thin he opens the dure saftly an' looks into the passiges, but they twisted all about, so he didn't dare to thry thim for fear they would be afther takin' him for a robber; so, wid many muttherin's an' moanin's, he lays hisself down on the bid wid all his clothes on, an', by an' by, falls into a throubled sleep.