“Are we both to come in together, masther?”
“Certainly. Turn out both your toeses—turn them out, I say.”
“Faix, sir, it’s aisier said than done wid some of us.”
“I know that, Misther Corcoran; but practice is every thing. The bow legs are strongly against you, I grant. Hut tut, Misther Corcoran—why, if your toes wor where your heels is, you’d be exactly in the first position, Paddy. Well, both of you turn out your toeses; look street forward; clap your caubeen—hem!—your castor undher your ome (arm), an’ walk into the middle of the flure, wid your head up. Stop, take care o’ the post. Now, take your caubeen, castor I mane, in your right hand; give it a flourish. Aisy, Mrs Hanratty—Corcoran I mane—it’s not you that’s to flourish. Well, flourish your castor, Paddy, and thin make a graceful bow to the company. Leedies and gintlemen”—
“Leedies and gintlemen”—
“I’m your most obadient sarvint”—
“I’m your most obadient sarwint.”
“Tuts, man alive! that’s not a bow. Look at this: there’s a bow for you. Why, instead of meeking a bow, you appear as if you wor goin’ to sit down wid an embargo (lumbago) in your back. Well, practice is every thing; an’ there’s luck in leisure.
“Dick Doorish, will you come up, and thry if you can meek any thing of that threblin’ step. You’re a purty lad, Dick; you’re a purty lad, Misther Doorish, wid a pair o’ left legs an you, to expect to larn to dance; but don’t despeer, man alive. I’m not afeard but I’ll meek a graceful slip o’ you yet. Can you meek a curchy?”
“Not right, sir. I doubt.”