couldn’t they have one dhrop more before going home, whin they saw coming sliding along through the air toward them, about four feet above the ground, a daycint-dhressed man, sitting comfortable, his poipe in his mouth an’ one leg crossed over the other. The sthranger stopped in the air not foive feet away, and in the moonlight they saw him plain knock the ashes from his poipe an’ stick it in the rim of his caubeen.
They ketched hould of aich other, gasping as he stepped down out of the air to the ground, an’ wishin’ them the top of the avening, he brushed past, walked bould to the bar an’ briskly called for three jorums of whusky. Tom, obliverous—for he hadn’t seen—handed out the dhrinks, an’ the sthranger, natural as you plaze, imptied one, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand an’ started for the door, carrying the two other jorums.
Tom, of course, follyed out to see who was in the road, and then he clutched hould of the three others, an’ the four, grippin’ aich other like lobsters bilin’ in the pot, clung, spacheless, swaging back an’ forth.
An’ sure ’twas no wonder, for they saw the sthrange man lift the two cups into the naked air, an’ they saw plain the two jorums lave his hands, tip themselves
