He's as close as Darby Skinadre, and as deep as a dhraw-well.

Altogether, he looks as if there was a weight on his conscience, for all his lightness an' fun--an' if I thought so, I'd discharge him at wanst." "And I agree with you for once," observed his master; "there is some cursed mystery about him.

I don't like him, either, to say the truth." "An' why don't you like him ?" asked Jemmy, with a contemptuous look.
"I can't say; but I don't." "No! you can't?
I know you can't say anything, at all events, that you ought to say," replied Jemmy, who, like, his master, would have died without contradiction; "but I can say why you don't like him; it's bekaise he's the best sarvint ever was about your place; that's the raison you don't like him.

But what do you know about a good sarvint or a bad one, or anything else that's useful to you, God help you." "If you were near my cane, you old scoundrel, I'd pay you for your impertinence, ay would I." "Ould scoundrel, is it?
Oh, hould your tongue; I'm not of your blood, thank God!--and don't be fastenin' your name upon me.

Ould scoundrel, indeed!--Troth, we could spare an odd one now and then out of our own little establishment." "Jemmy, never mind," said the son, "but tell Hanlon I want to speak to him in the office after breakfast." "If I see him I will, but the devil an inch I'll go out o' my way for it--if I see him I will, an' if I don't I won't.