Mr. SLICK--Good afternoon, Mrs. Clancy. This is a sad misfortune for you, isn't it? WIDOW--Oh, indade, indade, young mahn, me poor heart is bruk. Mr. SLICK--Very sad, Mrs. Clancy. A great misfortune, I'm sure. Now, Mrs. Clancy, I've called to-- WIDOW--Little did I t'ink, young mahn, win they brought poor Moike in that it was th' lasht! Mr. SLICK (_with conviction_)--True! True! Very true, indeed. It was a great grief to you, Mrs. Clancy. I've called this morning, Mrs. Clancy, to see if I could get from you a short obituary notice for the _Blanket_ if you could-- WIDOW--An' his hid was done up in a rag, an' he was cursin' frightful. A damned Oytalian lit fall th' hod as Moike was walkin' pasht as dacint as you plaze. Win they carried 'im in, him all bloody, an' ravin' tur'ble 'bout Oytalians, me heart was near bruk, but I niver tawt--I niver tawt--I--I niver--(_Breaks forth into a long, forlorn cry. The children join in, and the chorus echoes wailfully through the rooms._) Mr. SLICK (_as the yell, in a measure, ceases_)--Yes, indeed, a sad, sad affair. A terrible misfortune. Now, Mrs. Clancy-- WIDOW (_turning suddenly_)--Mary Ann. Where's thot lazy divil of a Mary Ann? (_As the servant appears._) Mary Ann, bring th' bottle! Give th' gintlemin a dhrink!... Here's to Hiven savin' yez, young mahn. (_Drinks._) Mr. SLICK (_drinks_)--A noble whisky, Mrs. Clancy. Many thanks. Now, Mrs. Clancy-- WIDOW--Take anodder wan! Take anodder wan! (_Fills his glass._) Mr. SLICK (_impatiently_)--Yes, certainly, Mrs. Clancy, certainly. (_He drinks._) Now, could you tell me, Mrs. Clancy, where your late husband was-- WIDOW--Who--Moike? Oh, young mahn, yez can just say thot he was the foinest mahn livin' an' breathin', an' niver a wan in th' warrud was betther. Oh, but he had th' tindther heart for 'is fambly, he did. Don't I remimber win he clipped little Patsey wid th' bottle, an' didn't he buy th' big rockin'-horse th' minit he got sober? Sure he did. Pass th' bottle, Mary Ann! (_Pours a beer-glass about half-full for her guest._) Mr. SLICK (_taking a seat_)--True, Mr. Clancy was a fine man, Mrs. Clancy--a _very_ fine man. Now, I-- WIDOW (_plaintively_)--An' don't yez loike th' rum? Dhrink th' rum, mahn! It was me own Moike's fav'rite bran'. Well I remimber win he fotched it home, an' half th' demijohn gone a'ready, an' him a-cursin' up th' stairs as dhrunk as Gawd plazed. It was a--Dhrink th' rum, young mahn, dhrink th' rum! If he cud see yez now, Moike Clancy wud git up from 'is-- Mr. SLICK (_desperately_)--Very well, very well, Mrs. Clancy. Here's your good health. Now, can you tell me, Mrs. Clancy, when was Mr. Clancy born? WIDOW--Win was he borrun. Sure, divil a bit do I care win he was borrun. He was th' good mahn to me an' his childher; an' Gawd knows I don't care win he was borrun. Mary Ann, pass th' bottle! Wud yez kape th' gintlemin starvin' for a dhrink here in Moike Clancy's own house? Gawd save yez.