They had sung it over and over, prolonging to a greater extent with each repetition the high note upon which in the song the word “men” falls. Once in tune, it was not so difficult to get Malachi to sing other songs, and he gave them, with the genuine flavor of the old sod, _Garryowen_. The gang became uproarious when he reached the stanza: “Johnny Connell’s tall and straight, And in his limbs he is complate, He’ll pitch a bar of any weight From Garryowen to Thomond gate.” But the climax was reached when Malachi was at last induced to sing _The Night Before Larry Was Stretched_. This had taken time and diplomacy, for the more popular the song, the more difficult it was to prevail upon him to sing it, though at last he yielded, and the gang restrained itself as he began: “The night before Larry was stretched, The boys they all paid him a visit, A bit in their sacks too they fetched, They sweated their duds till they riz it: For Larry was always the lad, When a friend was condemned to the squeezer, But he’d fence all the togs that he had Just to help the poor boy to a sneezer, And moisten his gob ’fore he died.” The lagging last line was too much, and in their mad delight they began to pound Malachi familiarly on the back. And then he froze stiffly, drew himself up, ordered his cab and went home, and the song was never finished. But now that morning had come and reason had returned with the light, he felt a chagrin at having suffered such a lapse in his dignity, and such a break in the resolution of years, and so was more solemn than ever.