clinch of an honest waist? Well, 'peut-etre.'

"Of the waist which is not honest?--tsh! he is gay--and so!"

The Irishman took his pipe from his mouth, and held it poised before him.
He looked inquiringly and a little frowningly at the other for a moment,
as if doubtful whether to resent the sneer that accompanied the words
just spoken; but at last he good-humouredly said: "Blood o' me bones, but
it's much I fear the honest waist hasn't always been me portion--Heaven
forgive me!"

"'Nom de pipe,' this Irishman!" replied Pierre. "He is gay; of good
heart; he smiles, and the women are at his heels; he laughs, and they are
on their knees--Such a fool he is!"

Still Shon McGann laughed.

"A fool I am, Pierre, or I'd be in ould Ireland at this minute, with a
roof o' me own over me and the friends o' me youth round me, and brats
on me knee, and the fear o' God in me heart."

"'Mais,' Shon," mockingly rejoined the Frenchman, "this is not Ireland,
but there is much like that to be done here. There is a roof, and there
is that woman at Ward's Mistake, and the brats--eh, by and by?"

Shon's face clouded. He hesitated, then replied sharply: "That woman, do
y' say, Pierre, she that nursed me when the Honourable and meself were
taken out o' Sandy Drift, more dead than livin'; she that brought me back
to life as good as ever, barrin' this scar on me forehead and a stiffness
at me elbow, and the Honourable as right as the sun, more luck to him!