Me and Misther Simpson have been on the hunt for two days and more, and now when I got on his trail, and found where he'd crawled into the bushes, and I tried to do the same, I crawled into the biggest cellar in the whole world, and I can't find the stairs to walk out again---" "Helloa, Mickey! Is that you, my old friend ?" called out the overjoyed lad, springing forward, throwing his arms about him, and breaking in most effectually upon his meditations.
The Irishman was mystified for a moment, but he recognized the voice, reached down, and placed his arms in turn about the lad.
"Begorrah, if this ain't the greatest surprise of me life, as Mr.
O'Spangarkoghomagh remarked when I called and paid him a little balance that I owed him.

I've had a hard hunt for you, and had about guv you up when I came down on you in this shtyle.

Freddy, me boy, I crave the privilege of axing ye a question." "Ask me a thousand, if you want," replied the boy, dancing about with delight.
"Are ye sure that it's yoursilf and nobody else?
I don't want to make a mistake that'll cause me mortification, and ye must answer carefully.'' "I'm sure it is I, Fred Munson." "Whoop! hurrah!" shouted Mickey, leaping several feet in the air, and, as he came down, striking at once into the Tipperary jig.
The overjoyed fellow kept it up for several minutes, making the cold, moist sand fly in every direction.

He terminated the performance by a higher leap than ever, and a regular Comanche war-whoop.

Having vented his overflowing spirits in this fashion, the Irishman was ready to come down to something like more sober common sense.