“Why, then, I don’t think myself it’s so good,” replied young Scaddhan; “troth it’s waiker than we usually have it; an’ the taste somehow isn’t exactly to my plaisin’.”

“Very well,” said Art; “if you have any that ’ill plaise yourself betther, get it; but in the mane time bring us a round o’ this, an’ we’ll be satisfied.”

“Art Maguire,” Toal proceeded, “you were ever and always a man out o’ the common coorse.”

“Now, Toal, you’re beginnin’,” said Art; “ha, ha, ha—­well, any way, how is that!”

“Bekaise the divil a taste o’ fear or terror ever was in your constitution.  When Art, boys, was at school—­sure he an’ I wor schoolfellows—­if he tuck a thing into his head, no matter what, jist out of a whim, he’d do it, if the divil was at the back door, or the whole world goin’ to stop him.”

“Throth, Toal, I must say there’s a great deal o’ thruth in that.  Divil a one livin’ knows me betther than Toal Finigan, sure enough, boys.”

“Arra, Art, do you remember the day you crossed the weir, below Tom Booth’s,” pursued Toal, “when the river was up, and the wather jist intherin’ your mouth?”

“That was the day Peggy Booth fainted, when she thought I was gone; begad, an’ I was near it.”

“The very day.”

“That may be all thrue enough,” observed Tom Whiskey; “still I think I know Art this many a year, and I can’t say I ever seen any of these great doing’s.  I jist seen him as aisy put from a thing, and as much afeard of the tongues of the nabors, or of the world, as another.”

“He never cared a damn for either o’ them, for all that,” returned Toal; “that is, mind, if he tuck a thing into his head; ay, an’ I’ll go farther—­divil a rap ever he cared for them, one way or other.  No, the man has no fear of any kind in him.”

“Why, Toal,” said Mooney, “whether he cares for them or not, I think is aisily decided; and whether he’s the great man you make him.  Let us hear what he says himself upon it, and then we’ll know.”

“Very well, then,” replied Toal; “what do you say yourself, Art?  Am I right, or am I wrong?”

“You’re right, Toal, sure enough; if it went to that, I don’t care a curse about the world, or all Ballykeerin along wid it.  I’ve a good business, and can set the world at defiance.  If the people didn’t want me, they wouldn’t come to me.”

“Come, Toal,” said Jerry; “here—­I’ll hould you a pound note”—­and lie pulled out one as he spoke—­“that I’ll propose a thing he won’t do.”

“Aha—­thank you for nothing, my customer—­I won’t take that bait,” replied the other; “but listen—­is it a thing that he can do?”

“It is,” replied Jerry; “and what’s more, every man in the room can do it, as well as Art, if he wishes.”

“He can?”

“He can.”

“Here,” said Toal, clapping down his pound.  “Jack Mooney, put these in your pocket till this matther’s decided.  Now, Jerry, let us hear it.”