He then made the little fellow drink the baby's health, after which he was despatched to bed.
“Throth, it's in for a penny in for a pound wid myself. I know, Frank, that—that there's something or other wrong wid my head, or at any rate wid my eyes; for everything, somehow, is movin'. Is everything movin', Frank?”
“You think so,” said Frank, “because you're fast getting tipsy—if you arn't tipsy all out.”
“Well, then, if I'm tip—tipsy, divil a bit the worse I can be by another tumbler. Come, Frank, here's the ould blood of Ireland—the Maguires of Fermanagh! And now, Frank, I tell you, it would more become you to drink that toast, than to be sittin' there like an oracle, as you are; for upon my sowl, you're nearly as bad. But, Frank.”
“Well, Art.”
“Isn't little Toal Finnigan a civil little fellow—that is—is—if he was well made. 'There never stood,' says he, 'sich a couple in the chapel of—of Aughindrumon, nor there never walked sich a couple up or down the street of Ballykeerin—that's the chat,' says he: an' whisper, Frank, ne—neither did there. Whe—where is Margaret's aiquil, I'd—I'd like to know? an' as for me, I'll measure myself across the shouldhers aginst e'er a—a man, woman, or child in—in the parish. Co—come here, now, Frank, till I me—measure the small o' my leg ag—aginst yours; or if—if that makes you afeard, I'll measure the—the ball of my leg aginst the ball of yours. There's a wrist, Frank; look at that? jist look at it.”
“I see it; it is a powerful wrist.”
“But feel it.”
“Tut, Art, sure I see it.”
“D—n it, man, jist feel it—feel the breadth of—of that bone. Augh—that's the—the wrist; so anyhow, here's little Toal Finnigan's health, an' I don't care what they say, I like little Toal, an' I will like little Toal; bekaise—aise if—if he was the divil, as—as they say he is, in disguise—ha, ha, ha! he has a civil tongue in his head.”