“How is that, Misther Connell?—It's mysterious, if you're about to swear against liquor!”
“I am. Put down, as I said, two tumblers for me at home—Are they down?”
“They are down—but”—
“Asy!—very good!—Put down two more for me at Dan's. Let me see!—two more; behind the garden. Well!—put down one at Father Mulcahy's;—two more at, Frank M'Carrol's of Kilclay. How many's that?”
“Nine!!!”
“Very good. Now put down one wid ould' Bartle Gorman, of Cargah; an' two over wid honest Roger M'Gaugy, of Nurchasey. How-many have you now?”
“Twelve in all!!!! But, Misther Connelly there's a demonstration badly wanted here. I must confis I was always bright, but at present I'm as dark as Nox. I'd thank you for a taste of explanation.”
“Asy, man alive! Is there twelve in all?”
“Twelve in all: I've calculated them.”
“Well, we'll hould to that. Och, och!—I'm sure, avourneen, afore I'd let you suffer one minute's pain, I'd not scruple to take an oath against liquor, any way. He may go an wid the masses now for you, as soon as he likes! Mr. O'Flaherty, will you put that down on paper,—an' I'll swear to it, wid a blessin', to-morrow.”