But late that night, when the bar was closed and the last loiterer was summarily ejected, Mr.Roscommon, in the conjugal privacy of his chamber, produced a legal-looking paper.

"Read it, Maggie, darlint, for it's meself never had the larning nor the parts." Mistress Roscommon took the paper: "Shure, it's law papers, making over some property to yis.

O Moike! ye havn't been spekilating!" "Whist! and fwhotz that durty gray paper wid the sales and flourishes ?" "Faix, it bothers me intoirely.

Shure it oin't in English." "Whist! Maggie, it's a Spanish grant!" "A Spanish grant?
O Moike, and what did ye giv for it ?" Mr.Roscommon laid his finger beside his nose and said softly, "Whishky!".