"
"Augh," said Skinadre, "by the livin' it's in him, an' I always knew it
was--the rale drop."
"Boys," said Harte, "go off wid yez out o' this, I say; divil a foot
you'll come in."
"Arra go to--Jimmaiky; who cares about you, Syl, when we have Art's
liberty? Sure we didn't know the thing ourselves half an hour ago."
"Come, Syl, man alive," said Art, "let the poor fellows enjoy their
liquor, an', as I can't join yez, I'll take my hat an' be off."
"I knew it, an' bad luck to yez, how yez 'ud drive him away," said Syl,
quite angry.
"Faix, if we disturb you, Art, we're off--that 'ud be too bad; yes, Syl,
you were right, it was very thoughtless of us: Art, we ax your pardon,
sorra one of us meant you any offence in life--come, boys."
Art's generosity was thus fairly challenged, and he was not to be
outdone--
"Aisy, boys," said he; "sit down; I'll not go, if that'll plaise yez;
sure you'll neither eat me nor dhrink me."
"Well, there's jist one word you said, Slanty, that makes me submit to
it," observed Harte, "an' that is, that it was accident your comin' at
all;" he here looked significantly at Art, as if to remind him of their
previous conversation on that day, and as he did it, his face gradually
assumed a complacent expression, as much as to say, it's now clear that
this cannot be the trap they designed for you, otherwise it wouldn't be
accidental.
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