There ain't wan uv thim foive byes as don't conthrol twinty-foive votes, an' there ain't wan uv 'em as don't moind what the ould mon says to um. Not wan, sorr. An' they resints the turnin' down uv their father." "That's as it should be," said Perkins. "An' ut's as ut was, me young fri'nd. Whin oi wint home to me pershonal fri'nds at th' Finn Club, Misther Perkins had losht me. Wan gone.
Perkins looked at him inquiringly. "Givin' me, Mike Finn, song an' dance about not bein' home, wid me fri'nds outside on the lawn watchin' him troo de windy, laffin' loike a hayeny." "Excuse me like a what?" said Thaddeus. "A hayeny," repeated Mr. Finn. "Wan o' thim woild bastes as laffs at nothin' much. 'Is he home? sez oi. 'Are yees a pershonal fri'nd? says the gurl. 'Oi'm not, sez oi.
"There's nothin' loike polithical exersoize to take off th' flesh, parthicularly when ye miss ut." "I fancy you are right," said Perkins. "I never met Mr. Perkins that is, face to face myself. Do you know him?" The Irishman threw his head back and laughed. "Well," he said, "oi'm not wan uv his pershonal fri'nds.