"There's my son now, Danny, run off to sea and his mother got him took in a draper's in Cork where he could be drawing easy money.
- What age is he? queried one hearer who, by the way, seen from the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell, the townclerk, away from the carking cares of office, unwashed of course and in a seedy getup and a strong suspicion of nosepaint about the nasal appendage.
- Why, the sailor answered with a slow puzzled utterance, my son, Danny? He'd be about eighteen now, way I figure it." (U16.657)