“Ghrush orrin, Larry, no! What could happen him? Why, man, I thought you knew where he was; an' in regard of his bein' abroad so often at night, myself didn't think it sthrange.”
Phelim's absence astounded them both, particularly the father, who had altogether forgotten everything that had happened on the preceding night, after the period of his intoxication. He proposed to go back to Donovan's to inquire for him, and was about to proceed there when Phelim made his appearance, dressed in his own tender apparel only. His face was three inches longer than usual, and the droop in his eye remarkably conspicuous.
“No fear of him,” said the father, “here's himself. Arrah, Phelim, what became of you last night? Where wor you?”
Phelim sat down very deliberately and calmly, looked dismally at his mother, and then looked more dismally at his father.
“I suppose you're sick too, Phelim,” said the father. “My head's goin' round like a top.”
“Ate your breakfast,” said his mother; it's the best thing for you.”
“Where wor you last night, Phelim?” inquired the father.
“What are you sayin', ould man?”
“Who wor you wid last night?”
“Do, Phelim,” said the mother, “tell us, aroon. I hope it wasn't out you wor. Tell us, avourneen?”