“No matther for that, I'm not goin' to put my judgment in comparishment wid yours, at any rate; an' Paddy M'Gartland himself said, 'Syl, my boy, you know what you're about; if this patthern plaises Art Maguire, it'll plaise anybody; see what it is,' says he, 'to have the fine high ould blood in one's veins.' Begad he did; will you come up this evenin' about seven o'clock, now, like a good fellow, an' pass your opinion for me? Divil a dacent stitch I have, an' I want either it, or another, made up before the ball night.” *
* Country dances, or balls, in which the young men pay
from ten to fifteen pence for whiskey “to trate the
ladies.” We hope they will be abolished.
“Well, upon my soundhers, Syl, I did not think you were such a fool; of coorse I'll pass my opinion on it—about seven o'clock, you say.”
“About seven—thank you, Art; an' now listen;—sure the boys intind to play off some prank upon you afore you lave us.”
“On me,” replied the other, reddening; “very well, Syl, let them do so; I can bear a joke, or give a blow, as well as another; so divil may care, such as they give, such as they'll get—only this, let there be no attempt to make me drink whiskey, or else there may be harder hittin' than some o' them 'ud like, an' I think they ought to know that by this time.”
“By jing, they surely ought; well, but can you spell mum?”
“M-u-m.”
“Ha, ha, ha, take care of yourself, an' don't forget seven.”
“Never fear.”
“Frank,” said Art, “I'm goin' up to Syl Harte's lodgin's to pass my opinion on the patthern of a waistcoat for him.”