ark Toolan an' Packy Dugan,
that wurruks in the shoe store, an' Molly Donahue an' th' Casey
sisters, thim that scandalized th' parish be doin' a skirt dance at
th' fair, all walkin' up an' down talkin'. 'Tin to wan on Sharkey,'
says Toolan. 'I go ye, an' make it a hundherd,' says Tim Scanlan. 'Was
ye at th' cake walk?' 'Who stole me hat?' 'Cudden't ye die waltzin'?'
'They say Murphy has gone on th' foorce.' 'Hivins, there goes th' las'
car!' 'Pass th' butther, please: I'm far fr'm home.' All iv thim
talkin' away at once, niver carin' f'r no wan, whin all at wanst up
stheps me bold Hogan with a nose on him,--glory be, such a nose! I
niver see th' like on a man or an illyphant.

"Well, sir, Hogan is Cy in th' play; an' th' beak is pa-art iv him.
What does he do? He goes up to Toolan, an' says he: 'Ye don't like me
nose. It's an ilicthric light globe. Blow it out. It's a Swiss cheese.
Cut it off, if ye want to. It's a brick in a hat. Kick it. It's a
balloon. Hang a basket on it, an' we'll have an' ascinsion. It's a
dure-bell knob. Ring it. It's a punchin' bag. Hit it, if ye dahr. F'r
two pins I'd push in th' face iv ye.' An', mind ye, Hinnissy, Toolan
had said not wan wurrud about th' beak,--not wan wurrud. An' ivry wan
in th' house was talkin' about it, an' wondhrin' whin it 'd come off
an' smash somewan's fut. I looked f'r a fight there an' thin. But
Toolan's a poor-spirited thing, an' he wint away. At that up comes
Scanlan; an' says he: 'Look here, young fellow,' he says, 'don't get
gay,' he says, 'don't get gay,' he says. 'What's that?' says Hogan.
Whin a man says, 'What's that?' in a bar-room, it manes a fight, if he
says it wanst. If he says it twict, it manes a fut race. 'I say,' says
Scanlan, 'that, if ye make anny more funny cracks, I'll hitch a horse
to that basket fender,' he says, 'an' dhrag it fr'm ye,' he says. At
that Hogan dhrew his soord, an' says he: 'Come on,' he says, 'come on,
an' take a lickin,' he says. An' Scanlan dhrew his soord, too. 'Wait,'
says Hogan. 'Wait a minyit,' he says. 'I must think,' he says. 'I must
think a pome,' he says. 'Whiniver I fight,' he says, 'I always have a
pome,' he says. 'Glory be,' says I, 'there's Scanlan's chanst to give
it to him,' I says. But Scanlan was as slow as a dhray; an', before he
cud get action, Hogan was at him, l'adin' with th' pome an' counthrin'
with the soord. 'I'll call this pome,' he says, 'a pome about a gazabo
I wanst had a dool with in Finucane's ha