Devil a much, says I. There’s a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken lane — old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him — lifted any God’s quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

Circumcised? says Joe.

Ay, says I.

A bit off the top. An old plumber named Geraghty. I’m hanging on to his taw now for the past fortnight and I can’t get a penny out of him.

That the lay you’re on now? says Joe.

Ay, says I. How are the mighty fallen! Collector of bad and doubtful debts. But that’s