"Now, Misther Belmont," he exclaimed, in a strong Hibernian accent, "are ye ready to go to work? By the powers! if I don't see ye sailed to-morrow on the shopboard, I'll discharge ye without a character—and ye shall starve on the top of that."
"To-morrow morning, Mr. Maloney," replied Belmont, meekly, "I'll be at my post."
"And it'll be mighty healthy for you to do that same," replied the man as he retired.
"Belmont, speak—tell me," gasped Julia, "who is that man—that loafer?"
"He is my employer," answered Belmont, smiling.
"And his profession?"
"He is a tailor."
"And you?"
"Am a journeyman tailor, at your service—a laborious and thankless calling it ever was to me—but now, dearest, as I drive the hissing goose across the smoking seam, I shall think of my own angel and my dear cottage, and be happy."
That night Julia retired weeping to her room in the attic.