I am sure he did not omit a thing he could think of for my comfort.

He had been gone for some time, and I had been writing letters, turning over the engineer's books, and finally dozing in his chair, when I was startled by sounds from his bedroom, as if O'Brien were engaged, first in high argument, and then in deadly struggle with some intruder.

I rushed to his assistance, and found him alone, stamping vehemently on the floor.
"What's the matter ?" said I.
"Matther is it?
Murther's the matther," and he gave another vicious stamp, and then took a stride that nearly cost him his balance, and gave another.

"I beg yor pardon, sorr; but it's the cockroaches.

The place swarms wid 'em.