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"Yer swearin' 'tis true?" Paddy growled.
"God's gospel, it's true!"
"That I may be struck down dead if I'm tellin' you a word of a lie! Every mortal word I wrote you is true!"
"Why didn't you send me word afore now?"
"I couldn't rightly make out where you were, Paddy. Only for Danny Greaney comin' home I'd never have got your address. An' you know I'm not handy with the pen."
"Why didn't you let me the way I was?not knowin' at all?"
"We to be butties always, Paddy. I thought it a shame you to keep send-in' her lashin's o' money an' she to be like that! You're chokin' me, Paddy!"
As Paddy tightened still more, the buttonhole broke and the stud came away in the crook of his index finger. He looked at it stupidly. Timothy quietly put the Y of his hand to his chafed neck. Paddy threw the stud behind him. It struck the timbered encasement of the stairway.
"Ach!" he said harshly. He drained his glass and, with its heel, tapped on the counter. The publican came up to refill the glasses.