“How would you like to become an opera singer, Mike?”
He recoiled, and, though he knew the meaning of the question, he asked:
“And phwat does ye mane by ‘opera’?”
“Ah, you know, you sly boy. I am sure that after a few years of training you can make your fortune on the operatic stage.”
The assurance did not appeal to Mike. He must find some excuse for declining an offer which would have turned the heads of most persons.
“It is very kind of you, leddy, and I’m sorry I can’t accipt, as Terence Gallagher said whin the mob invited him out to be hanged.”
“And why not?”
“Ye see, me dad, if he lives long enough will be eighty-odd years owld, and me mither is alriddy that feeble she can hardly walk across the floor of our cabin, and I am naaded at home to take care of the two.”
“Well, let that go for the present. I wish you to come and see me to-morrow at ten o’clock. Will you do so?”
“How can I refoos?” asked Mike, who would have been glad to back out. “Who is it that I shall ask fur whin I vinture on this part of the boat?”