de odder mug, de one down an' out on de floor wit' de irons
on--"

"Galer, in fact," said Jimmy. "Handsome, dashing Galer!"

"Sure. Well, he's too busy catchin' up wit' his breat' to shoot it
back swift, but, after he's bin doin' de deep-breathin' strut for a
while, he says, 'You mutt,' he says, 'youse is to de bad. You've
made a break, you have. Dat's right. Surest t'ing you know.' He puts
it different, but dat's what he means. 'I'm a sleut', he says. 'Take
dese t'ings off!'--meanin' de irons. Does de odder mug, de vally
gazebo, give him de glad eye? Not so's you could notice it. He gives
him de merry ha-ha. He says dat dat's de woist tale dat's ever bin
handed to him. 'Tell it to Sweeney!' he says. 'I knows youse. Youse
woims yourself into de house as a guest, when youse is really after
de loidy's jools.' At dese crool woids, de odder mug, Galer, gits
hot under de collar. 'I'm a sure-'nough sleut',' he says. 'I blows
into dis house at de special request of Mr. McEachern, de American
gent.' De odder mug hands de lemon again. 'Tell it to de King of
Denmark,' he says. 'Dis cop's de limit. Youse has enough gall fer
ten strong men,' he says. 'Show me to Mr. McEachern,' says Galer.
'He'll--' crouch, is dat it?"

"Vouch?" suggested Jimmy. "Meaning give the glad hand to."

"Dat's right. Vouch. I wondered what he meant at de time. 'He'll
vouch for me,' he says. Dat puts him all right, he t'inks; but no,
he's still in Dutch, 'cos de vally mug says, 'Nix on dat! I ain't
goin' to chase around de house wit' youse, lookin' fer Mr.
McEachern. It's youse fer de coal-cellar, me man, an' we'll see what
youse has to say when I makes me report to Sir Tummas.' 'Well, dat's
to de good,' says Galer. 'Tell Sir Tummas. I'll explain to him.'
'Not me!' says de vally. 'Sir Tummas has a hard evenin's woik before
him, jollyin' along de swells what's comin' to see dis stoige-piece
dey're actin'. I ain't goin' to worry him till he's good and ready.
To de coal-cellar fer yours! G'wan!' an' off dey goes! An' I gits
busy ag'in, swipes de jools, an' chases meself here."

Jimmy wiped his eyes.

"Have you ever heard of poetic justice, Spike?" he asked. "This is
it. But, in this hour of mirth and good-will, we must not forget--"

Spike interrupted. Pleased by the enthusiastic reception of his
narrative, he proceeded to point out the morals that were to be
deduced there-from.

"So, youse see, boss," he said, "it's all to de merry. When dey
rubbe