“Boys, let’s make up a subscription for him,” interrupted a little fellow whose rags depended for support upon a straw rope—technically termed a “suggawn”—fastened around his waist.
“Th’ hostler 'll hed it wud five shillin’s,” observed a bystander with a droll, malicious grin.
“Begorra, we’ll tell the landlord for to put it in the bill.”
“Are ye goin’ for to give us anything?” demanded the dwarf. This query was backed up by a unanimous murmur of approval.
“I am.”
“Well, that’s raysonible, anyhow.”
“I’m going to give you some sound, wholesome advice,” said the stranger.
A yell of anger, disappointment, dissent, and derision followed this announcement. Crutches were brandished, sticks flourished, fists shaken, and general denunciations upon this “nagurly” conduct were indulged in, in terms as pungent as they were personal.
“You won’t hear me?” he resumed during a lull in the storm.
“Sorra a hear.”