Danny Boy

Eddie Teague was sat at the old, twisted and grubby oak table in his great-uncle Solomon's antique shop in London's East End looking at a painting of a pile of dead birds which hung on the far wall.
    "Hey, Eddie, You alright kid?" Solomon asked from the shop front.
    "Yep, just wondering why the painting of the dead birds is called Danny Boy," Eddie answered.
    Eddie went into the back room and Solomon followed. He was well-built, broad-shouldered, tattooed and dark-haired. In his seventies he looked more like a seasoned career criminal than an antiques dealer. "Yeah it's a odd one that piece, even my paintings expert ain't got a damn clue," he sighed.
    Eddie patted Solomon gingerly on his left shoulder and coughed hard "Bloody....dust!" he heaved.
    Solomon roared with laughter as his great-nephew swore and coughed heavily for another five minutes. "Oh.....very.....damn funny, Uncle Sol" Eddie grunted and punched the man in the shoulder.
    Putting his arm around Eddie, Solomon steered him out of the room and into the shop front. "Just think lad, one day all this'll all be yours!" he boomed, throwing his arms out. He roared with laughter again as Eddie spluttered in horror.
    "Mine........mine WHY, WHY.........WHY?" Eddie cried.
    Solomon was grinning inanely at Eddie's emotional moment. "Someone's got to figure out that painting," he laughed.