The tramp lounged to the bar, followed by the suspicious glance of the
bar-keeper, who assumed a more respectful demeanor as the object of his
suspicions threw down a silver quarter and named his drink. It was
quickly furnished, and as quickly disposed of. The dancer had finished
his jig and accepted with alacrity the proffered offers to wet his
whistle. As he stepped to the bar his glance fell upon the tramp.

"Are ye drinkin' this aivenin'?"

"I am that," responded the tramp,

"Faith, an' its not at yer own expinse, then," with a glance at the
ragged clothing and "hard-up" appearance of the wanderer.

"An' a divil sight less at yours," retorted the tramp. "But by the same
token, we both get our rosy by manes of our heels."

"Shure fir ye, lad. Its hard up I've been myself before the now, but its
a cold day when Barney O'Hara will let a bog-trotter go dry--name your
poison."

"Its the rale ould stuff I'll be a takin' straight," and the tramp
spread his elbows on the counter and soon demonstrated his ability to
gulp down the fiery fluid without any such effeminate trimmings as water
in it. After the first glass had been emptied the tramp said:

"I've had a bit of luck to-day; what's your medicine?"

"The same," responded Barney.