im! ye ought to 'ave seed me wid the
girrls in the owld counthry! They jist rin afther me as if I'd been
stalin' their little hearrts. There was a twilve-month whin they tore
the very coat tails aff me back. Be gorry I could 'ave married me whole
neighborhood, an' I jist had to marry the firrst one I could lay me
honest hands on, an' take mesilf away wid her to Ameriky."

This was too much for Jim. His face broadened into his old smile.

"Mike," said he, "ye haven't got an old towel or a hoss blanket about
ye, have ye? I feel as if I was a goin' to cry."

"An' what the divil be ye goin' to cry for?"

"Well, Mike, this is a world o' sorrer, an' when a feller comes to think
of a lot o' women as is so hard pushed that they hanker arter Mike
Conlin, it fetches me. It's worse nor bein' without victuals, an' beats
the cholery out o' sight."

"Oh, ye blaggard! Can't ye talk sinse whin yer betthers is thryin' to
hilp ye? What kind of an owld woman have ye got, now?"

"Mike," said Jim, solemnly, "ye don't know what ye're talkin' about. If
ye did, ye wouldn't call her an old woman. She's a lady, Mike. She isn't
one o' your kind, an' I ain't one o' your kind, Mike. Can't ye see
there's the difference of a pig atween us? Don't ye know that if I was
to go hazin' round in the mornin' without no clo'es to speak on, an'
takin' comfort in a howlin' pig, that I shouldn't be up to keepin' a
hotel? Don't be unreasomble; and, Mike, don't ye never speak to me about
my old woman. That's a sort o' thing that won't set on her."

Mike shook his head in lofty pity.

"Ah, Jim, I can see what ye're comin' to."

Then, as if afraid that his "owld woman" might overhear his confession,
he bent toward Jim, and half whispered:

"The women is all smarter nor the men, Jim; but ye mustn't let 'em know
that ye think it. Ye've got to call 'em yer owld women, or ye can't keep
'em where ye want 'em. Be gorry! I wouldn't let me owld woman know what
I think of 'er fur fifty dollars. I couldn't kape me house over me head
inny time at all at all, if I should whishper it. She's jist as much of
a leddy as there is in Sivenoaks, bedad, an' I have to put on me big
airs, an' thrash around wid me two hands in me breeches pockets, an'
shtick out me lips like a lorrd, an' promise to raise the divil wid her
whiniver she gits a fit o' high flyin', an' ye'll have to do the same,
Jim, or jist lay down an' let 'er shtep on ye. Git a good shtart, Jim.
Don't ye gin 'er