Peter, reins in hand, walked beside the “mimber,” and in a few minutes was engaged in “discoorsin’” him.
“Home Rule? Sorra a wan o’ me cares a thraneen for it, thin.”
“What is a thraneen?” asked Mr. Hawthorne, eager for information all along the line.
“A thraneen is what the boys reddies their dhudeens wud,” was the response to the query.
“I am still in ignorance.”
“Wisha, wisha! an’ this is a mimber av Parliamint,” muttered Peter, “an’ he doesn’t know what a thraneen manes, an’ the littlest gossoon out av Father Finnerty’s school beyant cud tell him”; adding aloud: “A thraneen is a blade av grass that sheeps nor cows won’t ait, an’ it sticks up in a field; there’s wan,” suiting the action to the word, plucking it from a bank on the side of the road, and presenting it to the member for Doodleshire.
“And so you are not a Home-Ruler, my man?”
“Sorra a bit, sir.”
“Then what are you?”
“I am a repayler. I’m for teetotal separation; that’s what Dan O’Connell sed to Drizzlyeye.”