the divil to open the door, for he had a
dhrop taken.

'What the divil's the matther?' says
Andy Curtis, wakenin' out iv his sleep.

'Who's batin' the door?' says Nell;
'what's all the noise for?' says she.

'Who's in it?' says Andy.

'It's me,' says Jim.

'Who are you?' says Andy; 'what's
your name?'

'Jim Soolivan,' says he.

'By jabers, you lie,' says Andy.

'Wait till I get at you,' says Jim, hittin'
the door a lick iv the wattle you'd hear half
a mile off.

'It's him, sure enough,' says Nell; 'I
know his speech; it's his wandherin' sowl
that can't get rest, the crass o' Christ betune
us an' harm.'

'Let me in,' says Jim, 'or I'll dhrive the