O’Fi. No? I thought ye moight be; I seem to see a loikeness.
Tom. I should think you did!
O’Fi. A distant loikeness, sorr.
Tom. A mere suggestion, I suppose?
O’Fi. A faint shadowy indication of a remote family resemblance; that’s all, sorr, I give ye my honour. And now tell me where is he, that I may embrace him.
Tom. Well, he’s here; but don’t embrace him.
O’Fi. Sorr, d’ye mean to sit there and tell me to me very face that you’re me beloved ould friend Tom Cobb?
Tom. Well, if the marks on my linen are to be trusted——
O’Fi. Ah, sorr! beware of jumpin’ at conclusions on insufficient grounds. Depend upon it, ye’re mistaken, sorr.
Tom. Well, upon my honour, I begin to think I am!