For the moment even speech failed him as he confronted that scene of total devastation.

Then he dashed forward to face the victim of his righteous wrath.
"Ye dom Swade, ye!" He shook a dirty fist beneath the other's nose.
"Shmell o' that! It's now Oi know ye 're a thafe, a low-down haythen thafe.

What are ye sittin' thar for, grinnin' at yer betthers ?" "Two tollar saxty cint." The startled Irishman stared at him with mouth wide open.
"An' begorry, did ye hear that, seenorita?
For the love of Hivin, it's only a poll-parrot sittin' there ferninst us, barrin' the appetite of him.

Saints aloive! but Oi 'd love to paste the crature av it was n't a mortal sin to bate a dumb baste.

An' he 's a Lutheran! God be marciful an' keep me from iver ketchin' that same dis'ase, av it wud lave me loike this wan.