“Divil a know myself knows, Rody:—nor—not makin' you an ill answer—divil a hair myself cares, Rody. Let him have much, or let him have little, that's your share an' mine of it.”
“Charley, they say America's a fine place; talkin' about money—wid a little money there, they say a man could do wondhers.”
“Who says that?”
“Why Donnel Dhu, for one; an' he knows, for he was there.”
“I b'lieve that Donnel was many a place;—over half the world, if all's thrue.”
“Augh! the same Donnel's a quare fellow—a deep chap—a cute follow; but, I know more about him than you think—ay, do I.”
“Why, what do you know?”
“No matther—a thing or two about the same Donnel; an' by the same token, a betther fellow never lived—an' whisper—you're a strong favorite wid him, that I know, for we wor talkin' about you. In the meantime I wish to goodness we had a good scud o' cash among us, an' we safe an' snug in America! Now shake hands an' good bye—an' mark me—if you dhrame of America an' a long purse any o' these nights, come to me an' I'll riddle your dhrame for you.”
He then looked Hanlon significantly in the face, wrung his hand, and left him to meditate on the purport of their conversation.
The latter as he went out gazed at him with a good deal of surprise.