“How’s that?” said the old man.
“Why, because you know me so well, while I have no more knowledge of you than of the man in the moon.”
“Och, I’d know your skin in a tan-yard,” said the old chap, laughing. “But is it possible you don’t know me?”
“Faix if God Almighty knows no more about you than I do, the devil will have a prey of you one of those days,” replied Larry.
“Well, say no more about that,” said the old fellow, rather angrily. “But where are you going this blessed Sunday morning, Larry?”
“To Mill-street,” said Larry.
“All the ways—musha! what’s taking you to Mill-street, Larry?”
“My feet and my business,” said Larry, something piqued at the old fellow’s inquisitive importunity.
“You are very stiff this morning, Larry,” said the stranger with a grin.
“I am worse than that,” said the poor fellow; “the heart within me is sick and sore.”