"No; we never had one; at least, I never saw it. ” “So you think. " "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. My lads," he continued, addressing the partners; "when you've finished this job give that fellow a fresh set of darbies. “I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her.
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