Taig: Is it you it is?

Darby: Who else would it be?

Taig: What call had you letting on to be Dermot Melody?

Darby: What letting on?  Dermot is my full name, but Darby is the name I am called.

Taig: Are you a man owning riches and shops and merchandise?

Darby: I am not, or anything of the sort.

Taig: Have you teems of money in the bank?

Darby: If I had would I be sitting on this floor?

Taig: You thief you!

Darby: Thief yourself!  Turn around now till I will measure your features and your face. Yourself is it!  Is it personating my cousin Timothy you are?

Taig: I am personating no one but myself.

Darby: You letting on to be an estated magistrate and my own cousin and such a great generation of a man.  And you not owning so much as a rood of ridges!

Taig: Covering yourself with choice clothing for to deceive me and to lead me astray!

Darby: Putting on your head a fine glossy hat and I thinking you to have come with the spring-tide, the way you had luck through your life!

Taig: Letting on to be Dermot Melody!  You that are but the cull and the weakling of a race!  It is a queer game you played on me and a crooked game.  I never would have brought my legs so far to meet with the sooty likes of you!

Darby: Letting on to be my poor Timothy O’Harragha!

Taig: I never was called but Taig.  Timothy was a sort of a Holy day name.

Darby: Where now are our two cousins?  Or is it that the both of us are cracked?

Taig: It is, or our mothers before us.

Darby: My mother was a McGarrity woman from Loughrea.  It is Mary was her Christened name.

Taig: So was my own mother of the McGarritys.  It is sisters they were sure enough.

Darby: That makes us out to be full cousins in the heel.

Taig: You no better than myself!  And the prayers I used to be saying for you, and you but a sketch and an excuse of a man!

Darby: Ah, I am thinking people put more in their prayers than was ever put in them by God.

Taig: Our mothers picturing us to one another as if we were the best in the world.

Darby: Lies I suppose they were drawing down, for to startle us into good behaviour.

Taig: Wouldn’t you say now mothers to be a terror?

Darby: And we nothing at all after but two chimney sweepers and two harmless drifty lads.

Taig: Where is the great quality dinner yourself was to give me, having seven sorts of dressed meat?  Pullets and bacon I was looking for, and to fall on an easy life.

Darby: Gone like the clouds of the winter’s fog.  We rose out of it the same as we went in.