Wait till I rub the rust off; or stay, the rust shows them as well.

Let me see--P.

an' what's the other?
ay, an' M.P.

M .-- arra, what can that be for?
Well, devil may care! let it lie on the shelf there.

Here now--none of your cross looks, I say--put these cobwebs to your face, an' they'll stop the bleedin'.