You know that fellow, Jim McGroiarty, the lad that's always comin' up and thumpin' ye on the chest and yellin', 'How are ye?'"
"I know him."
"I'll bet he's smashed twinty cigars for me - some of them clear Havanny - but I'll get even with him now."
"How will you do it?"
"I'll tell ye. Jim always hits me over the vest pocket where I carry my cigars. He'll hit me just once more. There's no cigar in me vest pocket this mornin'. Instead of it, there's a stick of dynamite, d'ye mind!"