CHAPTER XI
At the Post Office in Beartown
Although Mike Murphy rarely got the worst of it in a bout at repartee, he had the true sporting instinct and liked the winner because of his victory. It took a bright person to beat him, but it did happen now and then, and he enjoyed a clash of wits with one who proved his master, though in the long run the youth generally came out ahead.
When, therefore, the girl in the post office at Beartown snapped out the remark just printed, he was roused to admiration. He threw back his head and the store rang with his infectious laughter.
“Begorra! ye were too much for me that time. If ye’ll not think me impudent, I beg the privilege of shaking hands wid ye.”
The merry sprite, laughing almost as heartily as he, though with less noise, reached a dainty hand across the counter and he grasped it. From behind the rack at the front of the store, the gentle mother beamed with a smile. She had heard and understood it all.
“I am afraid, Nora, you were rude to the gentleman,” she said in her silvery voice.
“Not a bit!” was the hearty response of Mike. “I got it that time where the chicken got the axe—which the same is in the neck. It was a fair hit and I desarved more, though no one could give it to me.”