The conversation afterwards took several turns, and embraced a variety of topics, till the second tumbler was finished.

“Now,” said Art, “as there’s but the two of us, and in regard of the occasion that’s in it, throth we’ll jist take one more a piece.”

“No,” replied Frank, “I never go beyant two, and you said you wouldn’t.”

“Hut, man, divil a matther for that; sure there’s only ourselves two, as I said, an’ Where’s the harm?  Throth, it’s a long time since I felt myself so comfortable, an’ besides, it’s not every night we have you wid us.  Come, Frank, one more in honor of the occasion.”

“Another drop won’t cross my lips this night,” returned his brother, firmly, “so you needn’t be mixin’ it.”

“Sorra foot you’ll go to bed to-night till you take another; there, now it’s mixed, so you know you must take it now.”

“Not a drop.”

“Well, for the sake of poor little Kate, that you’re to stand for; come, Frank, death alive, man!”

“Would my drinkin’ it do Kate any good?”

“Hut, man alive, sure if one was to lay down the law that way upon every thing, they might as well be out of the world at wanst; come, Frank."’

“No, Art, I said I wouldn’t, and I won’t break my word.”

“But, sure, that’s only a trifle; take the liquor; the sorra betther tumbler of punch ever was made:  it’s Barney Scaddhan’s whiskey."*

     * Scaddhan, a herring, a humorous nickname bestowed
     upon him, because he made the foundation of his fortune
     by selling herrings.

“An’ if Barney Scaddhan keeps good whiskey, is that any rason why I should break my word, or would you have me get dhrunk because his liquor’s betther than another man’s?”

“Well, for the sake of poor Margaret, then, an’ she so fond o’ you; sure many a time she tould me that sorra brother-in-law ever she had she likes so well, an’ I know it’s truth; that I may never handle a plane but it is; dang it, Frank, don’t be so stiff.”

“I never was stiff, Art, but I always was, and always will be, firm, when I know I’m in the right; as I said about the child, what good would my drinkin’ that tumbler of punch do Margaret?  None in life; it would do her no good, and it would do myself harm.  Sure, we did drink her health.”

“An’ is that your respect for her?” said Art, in a huff, “if that’s it, why—­”

“There’s not a man livin’ respects her more highly, or knows her worth betther than I do,” replied Frank, interrupting him, “but I simply ax you, Art, what mark of true respect would the fact of my drinkin’ that tumbler of punch be to her?  The world’s full of these foolish errors, and bad ould customs, and the sooner they’re laid aside, an’ proper ones put in their place, the betther.”

“Oh, very well, Frank, the sorra one o’ me will ask you to take it agin; I only say, that if I was in your house, as you are in mine, I wouldn’t break squares about a beggarly tumbler of punch.”