"The steps come nearer. 'They ain't anny ghost makes that much noise,' I says, niver losin' me nerve or movin' a inch annywheres. 'Though ye can't niver tell about ghosts.' And just thin a little man come strollin' round the corner of a wall and stood lookin' at me. It wasn't so dark yet but what I could be makin' out what little they was of him, and if iver wan of thim dudes in the newspaper funny-pictures come to life, here he was, only thim funny-pictures must 'a' been drawed by ammyteurs. I misdoubted was he real, but if he was, they was money on him, and if they was money on him, it would come off of him easy-like, and I could be namin' the man would spend it. Thin I raymimbered I was still holdin' up me shoes and me feet, like I was settin' on the point of a church-steeple, for his mouth was hangin' open like I was the first wan he iver seen, and belike I was. "'Pardon me,' he says, 'but why do ye do that?' says he, singin' it off like a Englishman. "'Whisht!' I says, not thinkin' of anny answer yet and cursin' the stone for bein' so hard. "'But, me good man,' says he, payin' no attention, '_why_ are ye holdin' thim shoes up in the air?' "'Whisht!' says I. 'Why not?' "'Why not?' says he, gaspin'. "'Ye said "why" the other time,' I says. 'Which do ye mean?' "'Which what?' says he, weak-like. "'Either wan of thim,' says I; 'sure, all what's is the same to me. But run along with ye now and don't be disturbin' me; it's workin' a charm I am. Unless ye would be helpin' me hold these shoes steady,' I adds enticin', bein' wishful of gittin' him close enough to grab him. "'Hold thim shoes steady?' says he. "'Hold thim shoes steady,' says I. "'A charm?' says he. "'Yis,' says I, 'a charm. And would ye mind not usin' me own conversation over ag'in so soon, sor? I've heard tell 'twas bad luck, and annyways, it's nervous it's makin' me.' "'Do you _have_ to set that way?' says he, comin' closer. "'Indeed and I do,' I says, 'though it's mortal wearin'. But whin ye are makin'--' and just there I makes a grab at him. But, och, blathers, if his brains was slow, his feet was quick, and away he wint, me after him, divil-racketty.