“‘Oh, oh!’ says the Gout, smacking his lips, ‘an’ did ye chanst to see any dhrinkin’ at all?’ ‘Goodness gracious!’ says the Spider, ’sure there was rivers of wine goin’ down every man’s throat!’

“‘That’ll do,’ says the Gout.  ‘I’ll bid ye good evening,’ he says, ‘an’ I’ll be off wid meself up there; an’ I’ll tell ye what,’ says he, ‘I’ll be in no hurry to lave it!’ he says, winking acrass at the other, ‘an’ you thry the cabin,’ he says, lookin’ back over his shoulder; ‘maybe it’ll suit ye betther nor me.’  Well, the poor Spider ran off as fast as he could, an’ when he come to the poor man’s housheen, in he walked, widout a bit o’ throuble at all, an’ sure there was plenty of flies there waitin’ for him.  They used to come buzzing in an’ out through the broken windies all day long.

“‘Och, bedad!  I am in luck,’ says the Spider to himself, ’if on’y the ould woman ‘ull let me stop in it an’ not be thryin’ to desthroy me wid her duster, the way the girl up beyant at the Coort did.’  But sure, the poor ould woman had other things to be thinkin’ of nor to be goin’ afther Spiders.  She left him alone in peace an’ comfort, an’ the poor fellow thought he was in heaven, afther all he had to put up wid at the other place.  Well, there he lived till he died, an’ he got so fat wid all the flies he was afther killin’ that it was an apple-complex that carried him off at the end!

“Well, Misther Gout went marching up the hill at a fine rate, an’ when he come to the rich man’s house, who should he see, by the greatest good luck, but the masther himself, standin’ on the steps o’ the hall door, sayin’ good-bye to the company.  He lay quiet till the last of the illigant carr’ages had drove off, an’ the master stepped inside again.

“‘I think I’ll have a smoke,’ says he—­here Pat assumed an aristocratic air and spoke in refined and mincing tones—­’before I go to bed.  William,’ says he to one of the futmen, ’bring me me slippers.’  Well, the gentleman sat down in a grand soft armchair, an’ the futman brought his slippers—­an’ if the Gout didn’t take the opportunity an’ pop into his big toe!”

Roseen jumped up from her stool with a chuckle of anticipation.  Pat proceeded to give utterance to a series of hollow and extraordinary groans, and to writhe in a manner intended to convey the extreme agony of the rich man.  Roseen fairly danced about, imitating Pat’s moanings to the best of her ability.  “Ou-ou-ou-ough!  Ugh!” “‘By this an’ by that,’ says the gentleman, ‘tare an’ ages!’ says he, ‘thunder an’ turf!’ he says, ‘what in the world is the matter wid me big toe?’

“Well, the misthress comes runnin’ down in a great state.  ‘My dear,’ she says (here Pat affected an extremely Englified falsetto), ’I am afeard you are very sick,’ says she; ’ye’d best have a sup of port wine,’ says she.

“‘Ou-ou-ough!’ says the masther, ’maybe it would do me good.  Fetch it there, quick,’ he says to the sarvants, ‘or I’ll be the death o’ some of yez!’