"A cynic, sir; an', faix, what sin am I up to now?"
"You say poverty is a crime."
"Begor! but it's worse! Most crimes is forgave afther a bit; an' the law is done wid ye whin ye're atin' yer skilly. But there's some people—aye! an' lashins iv thim too—what'd rather see ye in a good shute iv coffin than in a bad shute iv clothes!"
"Why, Andy, you're quite a philosopher!"
"Bedad, that's quare; but whisper me now, surr, what kind iv a thing's that?"
"Well! it's a very wise man—one who loves wisdom."
"Begor! yer 'an'r, lovin' girruls is more in my shtyle; but I thought maybe it was some new kind iv a Protestan'."
"Why a Protestant?"
"Sorra wan iv me knows! I thought maybe they can believe even less nor the ould wans."
Andy's method of theological argument was quite too difficult for me, so I was silent; but my companion was not. He, however, evidently felt that theological disquisition was no more his forte than my own, for he instantly changed to another topic:—
"I'll be goin' back to Knockcalltecrore to-morra, yer 'an'r. I've been tould to call fur Mr. Caicy, th' attorney—savin' yer prisence—to take him back to Carnaclif. Is there any missage ye'd like to send to any wan?" He looked at me so slyly that his meaning was quite obvious.
