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"What post would suit you?" inquired the visitor. "The diocese of New York?" "No, no," said the father. "I'm not ayqual to sich a risponsebility; that is, not at wanst, ye ondherstand. I'd like best to come up to sich a place as that gintly an' by degrays.
"Sure," continued "His Majesty," "we r'y'l personages always acknowledge our cousins. You're a cousin av mine, a distant one, it's thrue, but degrays don't count wid us. Wanst a cousin, alwavs a cousin." "Ah, sire!"
O'Rourke disappeared, and after a prolonged absence returned with the monstrous announcement that the thermometer stood at 820! Mr. Bilkins looked at the man closely. He was unmistakably sober. "Eight hundred and twenty what?" cried Mr. Bilkins, feeling very warm, as he naturally would in so high a temperature. "Eight hundthred an' twinty degrays, I suppose, sur." "Larry, you 're an idiot."
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