The gall of the loikes of ye to call yerselves min, and dhraw pay wid that sort of thing ferninst ye for a name! Oi 'll bet ye niver had no grandfather; ye 're nothin' but a it, a son of a say-cook, be the powers! An' ye come over here to work for a thafe--a dhirty, low-down thafe.

Do ye moind that, yer lanthern-jawed spalpeen?
What was it yer did over beyant ?" "Ay ban shovel-man fer Meester Burke--hard vork." "Ye don't look that intilligent from here.

Work!" with a snort, and waving his pipe in the air.

"Work, is it?
Sure, an' it's all the loikes of ye are iver good for.

It 's not brains ye have at all, or ye 'd take it a bit aisier.