"Jook, Jook, Jook," said Mr. Madigan; "'tis nothing but Jook these times. I'm havin' him for breakfus', dinner, and tea, an' a thrifle at bed time to slape on. 'Dinnis,' ses me ould woman; 'Dinis, ye shud get yet whiskers thrimed to a pint, an' wear a stiff shirt, for there's no gainsayin' ye raysimble th' Jook, if ye'd only dhress an' barber like him." An' me wid a face on me as har-rd as a grin'sthone. 'Tis a poor compliment to th' Jook anyway. Last Saturdah night she come home wid a white peak cap an' a gould band an it. 'Dinis,' she ses, 'ye'll wear this to Mass in th' mornin',' ses she. 'Tis wan like the Jook do be wearin', and they're bound to be the rage,' she ses. But I put me foot down, an' struck to me ould felt. So she lined th' thing wid newspapers, an' made little Micky wear it. An' he looks like a walkin musharoom."

"The Dook's right enough," said Mr. Snadden, "but the wimin goes too fur. As you know, I 'ad an addition to me fambly las' week. Before'and me missus ses to me: 'Josiah, if it's a boy we'll call 'im George, an' if it's a girl, Mary Victoria.' Well, I agreed, but, as you know, it was twins, an' now the boy is George Ophir Busby Snadden, an' the girl's Mary Victoria Welcome Royalty Snadden. The wimin goes too fur."

"They do," remarked Mr. Budd. "Hi remember once --"

"Did I niver tell ye?" said Mr. Madigan, "that if I had me rights I'd be a Jook, or, maybe a King, meself? Me fam'ly comes from Brian Boru, who was King iv Ireland befure Cromwell sthole his title deeds. Me uncle Felix, who cud thrace the decint, wint home to claim his rights, but they jailed him fer a Faynian, which was a dam mane thing to do, considerin' he marrid a Prodestan'."

"Talkin' of mean things," said Mr. Budd; "Hi 'ave 'eard --"

"I see be the papers," said Mr. Snadden, "that the South Aus. Agent-General 'as arrived 'ome. I suppose we'll 'ave the doctor back soon."

"Wot doctor?" asked Mr. Budd.

"Yes, I suppose," said Mr. Madigan; "he's a good little man, the doc; but he cudn't get along wid th' Jew min. They char-rged him too much. The storekeepin' an' the rayportin' he managed right enough, but th' pawnin' business worrid him."

"'Ow?" asked Mr. Budd.

"An Agint-General," continued Mr. Madigan, "has manny jooties. He must be a bit iv a storekeeper, an' a bit iv a bill-poster, an' a rayporter an' a fi-nan-ceer. The sthore is called the de-pot, fer style. None but colonial produc's is kipt, an' whin the stock runs low the Agint writes to the Premier fer more. 'Dear Jinks,' he ses; 'sind me half a dozen best shillin' wine and some cheeses,' he ses; 'but for hivin's sake,' he ses, 'no live stock, or they'll charge exthree jooty. An' fill th' bottles right up this time,' he ses. 'I have to rayport sales fer month,' ses he. 'Wan side iv lamb (which I sold cheap, it bein' on th' turn), sivin rabbits, an' wan bottle iv wine. The ould woman who bought the last,' he ses, 'fell in th' guther an' bruk it. I had to give her another,' he ses, 'fer she raised the divil in the shop, bein' Irish. Love to th' byes,' he ses, 'an' I'm thryin' to fix loan wid uncle. Yours, fondly, Algy.'"

"Uncles," said Mr. Budd, "reminds me --"

"But th' pawnin' is the har-rdest part," went on Mr. Madigan. "Th' Agint sneaks past th' pawnshop twinty times before he plucks up courage. An' whin he thinks there's no wan lookin' he pops in. 'Uncle,' he ses, 'gimme a millyun.' 'Vot security?' ses the Jew man. 'Splendid,' ses the Agint; 'mag-nificent,' he ses. 'Wan hundred thosan' miles iv bewchus an' fertile counthry, iv which I've th' deeds in me pocket,' he ses. 'Grass all over it five feet high (God forgive me),' he ses to himself (but they've had no rain fer three year). 'Grow anythin',' he ses, 'an' carries hundreds iv thousands iv cattle (all dead wid thirst),' he ses. 'There's six lar-rge gold mines (which ain't found yet),' he ses. And so on, till matters is fixed, an' the Agint sends out th' millyun. An' th' Gov'mint builds a line frum Sandytown to Dead Horse Hill, an' sinds Home for more."

"Hi 'ave an idear," said Mr. Budd, "that --"

"So that's 'ow an Agent works?" said Mr. Snadden.

"That if this country --," said Mr. Budd.

"'Tis har-rd work, an' wants a good man," said Mr. Madigan.

"This country --," said Mr. Budd.

"It does," said Mr. Snadden.

"'Ave a drink," said Mr. Budd.

"We will," said Mr. Madigan; "a man gets dhry list'nin' to ye talk."

"C.J.D."
Critic, 27 July 1901, p11