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Well, 'tis as good as fourscore years—I often hard my father, God be merciful to him! tell the story—since Manus O'Rourke, a great buckeen, a cockfighting, drinking blackguard that was long ago, went to sleep one night, and had a dream about Linn-na-Payshtha.

I am just murthered be the work I have to do in me profession,” said Buckeen, and he swaggered out of the club.

“That’s all you know about it, Buckeen,” said a tall man with a red nose and a squint, who looked as if he were gazing at the bottles behind the bar, though he really was watching Mr Gideon.

“Not from me, Buckeen,” said the tall man, whose name was Crotty, as he continued to squint hideously while he watched Mr Gideon.

“I will take a thousand to five hundred from any one,” said Buckeen, who liked to talk loudly about bets which no one who knew him would think of taking from him or dream of his ever intending to pay.