The present for him was
everything; he had no future. While he supplied stuff from the
trousers to repair the fractures in the jacket, he never reflected
that both would be required on the morrow. Poor John! in his brief
and reckless career, how often have I recalled that foolish act of
his. It now appears to me that his whole life was spent in tearing
his trousers to repair his jacket.
In the evening John asked me for a piece of soap.
"What do you want with soap, John?"
"To wash my shirt, ma'am. Shure an' I'm a baste to be seen, as black
as the pots. Sorra a shirt have I but the one, an' it has stuck on
my back so long that I can thole it no longer."
I looked at the wrists and collar of the condemned garment, which
was all of it that John allowed to be visible. They were much in
need of soap and water.
"Well, John, I will leave you the soap, but can you wash?"
"Och, shure, an' I can thry. If I soap it enough, and rub long
enough, the shirt must come clane at last."
I thought the matter rather doubtful; but when I went to bed I left
what he required, and soon saw through the chinks in the boards a
roaring fire, and heard John whistling over the tub.
