“Well, Duggan, your rent?”
“I have scrambled it together, sir, from God knows how many quarthers.”
“Phil,” said Solomon aside, “is it not painful to hear how habitually these dark creatures take the sacred name in vain.”
“By —-, it's perfectly shocking,” said Phil, “but what else could you expect from them?”
“Duggan,” said Val, “what is this, here's a mistake—you are short three pound ten.”
“Beggin' your pardon, sir, it's all right,” replied Duggan; “you see, your honor, here's my little account for the work I wrought for you for five weeks wid horse and cart, up until I put my knee out o' joint in the quarry—you remember, sir, when I brought it to you, you said to let it stand, that you would allow for it in the next gale.”
“I remember no such thing, my good fellow, or, if ever I said such a thing, it must have been a mistake; do you imagine, now—are you really so stupid and silly as to imagine that I could transmit this account of yours to Lord Cumber, in payment of his rent?”
“But wasn't it by your own ordhers I did it, sir?”
“No, sir; it couldn't be by my orders. Duggan, you're a great knave, I see. I once had a good opinion of you; but I now perceive my error. Here you trump up a dishonest bill against me, when you know perfectly well that most of the work you charge me with was duty work.”
“Beggin,' your pardon, sir, I paid you the duty-work besides, if you'll remember it.”