“Divil a bit, till the minute before I ris.”
“Then the divil a purtier jig you ever danced in your life; wait till I show you how your left toe wint.”
He accordingly lay down and illustrated the pretended action, after which he burst out into another uncontrollable fit of mirth.
“'Twas just for all the world,” said he, “as if I had tied a string to your toe, for you groaned an' grunted, an' went on like I dunna what; but, Connor, what makes you so sleepy to-day as well as on Monday last?”
“That's the very thing,” replied the unsuspicious and candid young man, “that I wanted to spake to you about.”
“What! about sleepin' in the meadows?”
“Divil a bit o' that, Bartle, not a morsel of sleepin' in the meadows is consarned in what I'm goin' to mintion to you. Bartle, didn't you tell me, the day you hired wid my father, that you wor in love?”
“I did, Connor, I did.”
“Well, so am I; but do you know who I'm in love with?”
“How the divil, man, could I?”