The courier stared at O'Toole and forgot all about the landlord.

He had eaten nothing all day, and the wine and the water-jug had gone to his head.

He put a long forefinger on O'Toole's knee.
"Say that again," said he, and O'Toole obeyed.

A slow, fat smile spread all over the courier's face.
"I'll tell my wife about it," said he.

He tried to clap O'Toole on the back, and missing him fell forward with his face on the table.