_Darby:_ Putting on your head a fine glossy hat and I thinking you
to have come with the spring-tide, the way you had luck through your
life!

_Taig:_ Letting on to be Dermot Melody! You that are but the cull
and the weakling of a race! It is a queer game you played on me and
a crooked game. I never would have brought my legs so far to meet
with the sooty likes of you!

_Darby:_ Letting on to be my poor Timothy O'Harragha!

_Taig:_ I never was called but Taig. Timothy was a sort of a Holy
day name.

_Darby:_ Where now are our two cousins? Or is it that the both of
us are cracked?

_Taig:_ It is, or our mothers before us.

_Darby:_ My mother was a McGarrity woman from Loughrea. It is Mary
was her Christened name.

_Taig:_ So was my own mother of the McGarritys. It is sisters they
were sure enough.

_Darby:_ That makes us out to be full cousins in the heel.

_Taig:_ You no better than myself! And the prayers I used to be
saying for you, and you but a sketch and an excuse of a man!