I say, Dick Mahony! Give us a drink, old boy! ...

I'm dead-beat." At this the storekeeper--a tall, slenderly built man of some seven or eight and twenty--appeared, bearing a jug and a pannikin.
"Oh, bah!" said the lad, when he found that the jug held only water.
And, on his friend reminding him that he might by now have been sitting in the lock-up, he laughed and winked.

"I knew you'd go bail." "Well! ...

of all the confounded impudence...." "Faith, Dick, and d'ye think I didn't see how your hand itched for your pocket ?" The man he called Mahony flushed above his fair beard.

It was true: he had made an involuntary movement of the hand--checked for the rest halfway, by the knowledge that the pocket was empty.