man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence.
―Stand and deliver, says he.
―That’s all right, citizen, says Joe. Friends here.
―Pass, friends, says he.
Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he:
―What’s your opinion of the times?
Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. But, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion.
―I think the markets are on a rise, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.
So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says:
―Foreign wars is the cause of it.
And says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket:
―It’s the Russians wish to tyrannise.
―Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I, I’ve a thirst on me I