“Faix ye may say so,” continued Kerry, converting her glance into words. “'Tis a poor object I am this blessed day. The coat on my back is more like a transparency, and my small clothes, saving your favour, is as hard to get into as a fishing-net; and if I was training for the coorse, I couldn't be on shorter allowance.”. “What's that yer saying about yer vittals?” said the cook, turning fiercely towards him. “There's not your equal for an appetite from this to Cork. It's little time a Kerry cow would keep you in beef; and it's an ill skin it goes into. Yer a disgrace to a good family.”
“Well, I am, and there's no denying it!” ejaculated Kerry, with a sigh that sounded far more like despair than resignation.
“Is it to hang yourself you have that piece of a rope there?” said she, pointing to the end of a stout cord that depended from Kerry's pocket.
“Maybe it might come to that same yet,” said he, and then putting his hand into his pocket, he drew forth a great coil of rope, to the end of which a leaden weight was fastened. “There, now,” resumed he, “Yer a cute woman—can ye tell me what's the meanin of that?”
Mrs. Branagan gave one look at the object in question, and then turned away, as though the enquiry was one beneath her dignity to investigate.
“Some would call it a clothes-line, and more would say it was for fishing; but sure there's no sign of hooks on it at all; and what's the piece of lead for?—that's what bothers me out entirely.” These observations were so many devices to induce Mrs. Branagan to offer her own speculations; but they failed utterly—that sage personage not deigning to pay the least attention either to Kerry or the subject of his remarks.
“Well, I'll just leave it where I found it,” said he, in a half soliloquy, but which had the effect of at least arousing the curiosity of his companion.
“And where was that?” asked she.
“Outside there, before the hall door,” said he, carelessly, “where I got this little paper book too,” and he produced a small pocket almanack, with blank pages interleaved, some of which had short pencil memoranda. “I'll leave them both there, for, somehow, I don't like the look of either of them.”
“Read us a bit of it first, anyhow,” said Mrs. Branagan, in a more conciliating tone than she had yet employed.