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Dan," cried another, as a man forced his way through the crowded room towards the fire, "you've bin in Toorkey, I believe; I say, try them fellers wi' a screed o' Toorko. P'raps they'll make that out." The individual addressed was very different from the men amongst whom he stood.
Tim shook his head at these latter. "Begorra, thay're as lane as Job's toorkey, an' that wor all skin an' faythers," he muttered. "Thay'll pick up, though, whin they gits out to say an' has a good bit av salt joonk insoide av 'em, instid av the poor livin' thay've hid av late."
"Ye can speak Toorko, can't ye?" "Maybe I can," he replied cautiously. "Well, I'm told that Toorkey lies to the suthard o' Roosia, just as England lies to the suthard o' Scotland, an' so, mayhap, they'll understand a bit Toorko." "Faix, av they don't understand Thoorko better nor the English understand Scotch, it's little speed I'll come wi' them," said Dan with a leer.
"Arrah! d'ye think I'll spake a word av ye stick yer great ugly fists into my jooglar veins like that? Hands off," he cried indignantly, "or niver a taste o' spaitch ye'll git from me, bad or good. Besides, what duv I know about Roosian?" "Ye've bin in Toorkey, han't ye?" inquired a fisherman. "Troth I have, an' what o' that?" replied Dan, as his captors released their hold of his collar.
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