“I riz him wud the stars an’ sthripes,” joyously chuckled the dwarf.
“Faix, it’s more nor a speech we want,” wheezed a little old fellow on crutches.
“The Home-Rulers has stuffed us like turkeys.”
“Ordher! Ordher in the coort!” yelled the dwarf. “Be aisy, Billy McKeon. Lave off scroogin’ me, Mary Nayle, an’ let the cripples in front.”
A few additional facetiæ, and the silence became complete.
The new-comer had removed his hat, and his massive white forehead stood out from beneath his soft brown, curly hair.
“I thank you for the cheer which you have given for the country of my birth.” (“That’s half a crown to me, anyhow,” muttered the dwarf.) “I hope that cheer was an honest one. It was not my intention to bestow ten cents among you, as I do not encourage mendicants; and once a beggar, always a beggar.”
This was received with very audible manifestations of dissatisfaction.
“Musha, but ye’ve come far enough for to tell us that,” growled the old man with the crutches.
“I have come a long way to tell it to you,” retorted the stranger, “and I’ll tell you more. It is positively sickening to travel through this beautiful country, on account of you and the like of you. From Cork to Killarney, from Killarney to Dublin, from Dublin to—”