“He might be,” said Mary Ellen.
“Go you on in then,” said Doyle, “and be cooking them chops for him. Why would you keep him waiting for his dinner and him maybe faint with the hunger?”
“And why would you say he was a Yank?” said Gallagher.
“Why would I say it? You’d say it yourself, Thady Gallagher if so be you’d heard the way he was talking. ‘Is there a live man in the place at all?’ says he, meaning Ballymoy. ‘It’s waking up you want.’ says he.”
“Did he? The devil take him,” said Gallagher.
“‘And I’ve a good mind to try and wake you up myself,’ said he. ‘I’m reckoned middling good at waking people up where I come from,’ says he.”
“Let him try,” said Gallagher. “Let him try if it pleases him. We’ll teach him.”
Gallagher spoke with an impressive display of truculent self-confidence. He had at the moment no doubt whatever that he could subdue Mr. Billing or any other insolent American. His opportunity came almost at once. Mr. Billing appeared at the door of the hotel. He looked extraordinarily cool and competent. He also looked rather severe. His forehead was puckered to a frown. It seemed that he was slightly annoyed about something. Gallagher feared that his last remark might have been overheard. He shrank back a little, putting Doyle between him and Mr. Billing.
“Say,” said Mr. Billing, “is there any way of getting a move on that hired girl of yours? It’ll be time for breakfast to-morrow morning before she brings my lunch if some one doesn’t hustle her a bit.”
“Mary Ellen,” shouted Doyle. “Mary Ellen, will you hurry up now and cook the gentleman’s dinner?” Then he sank his voice. “She’s frying the chops this minute,” he said. “If you was to stand at the kitchen door you’d hear them in the pan.”