"Now, Partrick," said Uncle Nathan, on the evening after Emily's rescue, "rum never did any one any good."
"'Pon my soul it did, thin,—it makes me happy whin sorra thing else in the wide world will comfort me," replied Pat.
"But that an't nateral happiness; it an't the sort that comes of doin' good to your feller-creturs."
"It sinds throuble away—what else is happiness?"
"But how do you feel arterwards? That's the pint."
"Arrah! bad enough, sure. Yous have the betther of me there."
"Then leave it off, Partrick," responded Uncle Nathan, drawing the pledge from his pocket. "Sign the pledge, and you are safe."
But we need not follow Uncle Nathan in his reformatory lucubrations. Pat signed the pledge; but whether he had an appreciating sense of the restraint he imposed upon his appetite we cannot say. Uncle Nathan thought him saved from his cups, and rejoiced accordingly. Perhaps, if he had looked a little closer, he might have suspected an interested motive on the part of Pat. He saw none, and, feeling secure in the present victory, he admonished his disciple "to stick to it as long as he lived."
"'Pon me word, I will, thin," replied Pat. "I see yous are a gintleman, if yous don't look jist like one. Now, do you see, Mr. Binson, you are jist the man I am looking for, this last six hours."
"Why so, Partrick—what do you mean?" said Uncle Nathan, mystified by the sudden change of manner in the new convert.