thin, if it 's not to put in yer mouth?' 'It 's to put in yer poorse,' says he, like a fool. Says I: 'I 'm thinkin',' I says, '’t will be little enough of it 'll be like to get into my poorse,' I says. An' that was the truth of it, fer he was skinnin' the till ev'ry night himself. 'Little enough,' he says, 'unless yeh swally yer poorse first,' he says. An' 't was not long, thin' befoore he toorned me out. Me that 'd woorked up the trade fer 'm, mind yeh! I was but drinkin' fer t' encourage the customers. But no! He took an' toorned me out to dig drains. An' niver a cint 've I had from 'm to this day."
"Have yeh not!" Mrs. Maloney muttered. "Thin many 's the dollar's worth of help yer wife 's had—"
"Niver a cint!" he said. "Fer niver a cint wud I take. Though I was to starve fer it!"
"Why did n't you go into politics yerself," young Barney prodded him. "There 's money in politics. You'd—"
"Did n't I?" He turned to the girl, as if he felt himself on his defense before her. "Whin he was runnin' fer alderman—an' th' others put up oold Diedrichs ag'in' 'm;—was n't I the chairman of the comity, fightin' Mike? An' what did he do, think yeh? He bought up one of our lads that had the buyin' of the drinks fer a rally we was havin', the night befoore th' iliction—an' he had all the beer dosed, so 's the next day ev'ry mother's son of us was too sick fer to go to the polls. An' he won be a big major'ty. He did that! An' thin he boasted that 't was me that dosed the drink
