Shure, it's all the blessed Sabbaths and saints' days I've been a working
like a haythen Jew, an niver seen the insides o' the chapel to confess my
sins, and me poor sowl's lost intirely--and they've pawned the relaver
[Footnote: A coat, we understand, which is kept by the coatless wretches in
these sweaters' dungeons, to be used by each of them in turn when they want
to go out.--EDITOR.] this fifteen weeks, and not a boy of us iver sot foot
in the street since."
"Vot's that row?" roared at this juncture Downes's voice from below.
"Och, thin," shrieked the woman, "here's that thief o' the warld, Micky
Kelly, slandhering o' us afore the blessed heaven, and he owing L2. 14s.
1/2d. for his board an' lodging, let alone pawn-tickets, and goin' to
rin away, the black-hearted ongrateful sarpent!" And she began yelling
indiscriminately, "Thieves!" "Murder!" "Blasphemy!" and such other
ejaculations, which (the English ones at least) had not the slightest
reference to the matter in hand.
"I'll come to him!" said Downes, with an oath, and rushed stumbling up
the stairs, while the poor wretch sneaked in again, and slammed the door
to.
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