The hair verged on a fiery red, the nose was a real sky-scraper and the upper lip was almost proboscidian in its length.

But every one liked the face.
"It's proud Oi'm bein' shakin' the hand av Misther Stirling," said the Irishman.
"Sit down," said Peter.
"My name's Moriarty, sir, Dinnis Moriarty, an' Oi keeps a saloon near Centre Street, beyant." "You were round here in the procession." "Oi was, sir.

Shure, Oi'm not much at a speech, compared to the likes av yez, but the b'ys would have me do it." Peter said something appropriate, and then there was a pause.
"Misther Stirling," finally said Moriarty, "Oi was up before Justice Gallagher yesterday, an' he fined me bad.

Oi want yez to go to him, an' get him to be easier wid me.

It's yezself can do it." "What were you fined for ?" asked Peter.
"For bein' open on Sunday." "Then you ought to be fined." "Don't say that till Oi tell yez.