, you fool; it's France.

_Patrick._ Tare and ouns! do you tell me so? and how do you know it's
France, Captain dear?

_Captain._ Because we were on the coast of the Bay of Biscay when the
vessel was wrecked.

_Patrick._ Throth, I was thinkin' so myself. And now, Captain jewel,
it is I that wishes we had a gridiron.

_Captain._ Why, Patrick, what puts the notion of a gridiron into your
head?

_Patrick._ Because I'm starving with hunger, Captain dear.

_Captain._ Surely you do not intend to eat a gridiron, do you?

_Patrick._ Ate a gridiron; bad luck to it! no. But if we had a
gridiron, we could dress a beefsteak.

_Captain._ Yes; but where's the beefsteak, Patrick?

_Patrick._ Sure, couldn't we cut it off the pork?

_Captain._ I never thought of that. You are a clever fellow, Patrick.
(_Laughing._)

_Patrick._ There's many a thrue word said in joke, Captain. And now,
if you will go and get the bit of pork that we saved from the rack,
I'll go to the house there beyant, and ax some of them to lind me the
loan of a gridiron.

_Captain._ But, Patrick, this is France, and they are all foreigners
here.

_Patrick._ Well, and how do you know but I am as good a furriner
myself as any o' them.

_Captain._ What do you mean, Patrick?

_Patrick._ Parley voo frongsay?

_Captain._ O, you understand French, then, is it?

_Patrick._ Throth, you may say that, Captain dear.

Captain. Well, Patrick, success to you. Be civil to the foreigners,
and I'll be back with the pork in a minute. [_He goes out._

_Patrick._ Ay, sure enough, I'll be civil to them; for the Frinch are
always mighty p'lite intirely, and I'll show them I know what good
manners is. Indade, and here comes munseer himself, quite convaynient.
(_As the Frenchman enters, Patrick takes off his hat, and making a
low bow, says:_) God save you, sir, and all your children. I beg your
pardon for the liberty I take, but it's only being in disthress in
regard of ateing, that I make bowld to trouble ye; and if you could
lind me the loan of a gridiron, I'd be intirely obleeged to ye.

_Frenchman (staring at him)._ Comment!

_Patrick._ Indade it's thrue for you. I'm tathered to paces, and God
knows I look quare enough; but it's by rason of the storm that dhruve
us ashore jist here, and we're all starvin'.

_Frenchman._ Je m'y t--(_pronounced_ zhe meet).

_Patrick._ Oh! not at all! by no manes! we have plenty of mate
ourselves, and we'll dhress it, if you be