, young mahn.
(_Drinks._)

Mr. SLICK (_drinks_)--A noble whisky, Mrs. Clancy. Many thanks. Now,
Mrs. Clancy--

WIDOW--Take anodder wan! Take anodder wan! (_Fills his glass._)

Mr. SLICK (_impatiently_)--Yes, certainly, Mrs. Clancy, certainly. (_He
drinks._) Now, could you tell me, Mrs. Clancy, where your late husband
was--

WIDOW--Who--Moike? Oh, young mahn, yez can just say thot he was the
foinest mahn livin' an' breathin', an' niver a wan in th' warrud was
betther. Oh, but he had th' tindther heart for 'is fambly, he did. Don't
I remimber win he clipped little Patsey wid th' bottle, an' didn't he
buy th' big rockin'-horse th' minit he got sober? Sure he did. Pass th'
bottle, Mary Ann! (_Pours a beer-glass about half-full for her guest._)

Mr. SLICK (_taking a seat_)--True, Mr. Clancy was a fine man, Mrs.
Clancy--a _very_ fine man. Now, I--

WIDOW (_plaintively_)--An' don't yez loike th' rum? Dhrink th' rum,
mahn! It was me own Moike's fav'rite bran'. Well I remimber win he
fotched it home, an' half th' demijohn gone a'ready, an' him a-cursin'
up th' stairs as dhrunk as Gawd plazed. It was a--Dhrink th' rum, young
mahn, dhrink th' rum! If he cud see yez now, Moike Clancy wud git up
from 'is--

Mr. SLICK (_desperately_)--Very well, very well, Mrs. Clancy. Here's
your good health. Now, can you tell me, Mrs. Clancy, when was Mr. Clancy
born?

WIDOW--Win was he borrun. Sure, divil a bit do I care win he was borrun.
He was th' good mahn to me an' his childher; an' Gawd knows I don't care
win he was borrun. Mary Ann, pass th' bottle! Wud yez kape th' gintlemin
starvin' for a dhrink here in Moike Clancy's own house? Gawd save yez.

(_When the bottle appears she pours a huge quantity out for her guest_.)

Mr. SLICK--Well, then, Mrs. Clancy, _where_ was he born?

WIDOW (_staring_)--In Oirland, mahn, in Oirland! Where did yez t'ink?
(_Then, in sudden, wheedling tones._) An' ain't yez goin' to dhrink th'
rum? Are yez goin' to shirk th' good whisky what was th' pride of
Moike's life, an' him gettin' full on it an' breakin' th' furnitir t'ree
nights a week hard-runnin'? Shame an yez, an' Gawd save yer soul. Dhrink
it oop now, there's a dear, dhrink it oop now, an' say: "Moike Clancy,
be all th' powers in th' shky, Hiven sind yez rist!"

Mr. SLICK--(_to himself_)--Holy smoke! (_He drinks, then regards the
glass for a long time._) ... Well, now, Mrs. Clancy, give me your
attention for a moment, please. When did--

WI