It occurred to Frank that Priscilla had shown some eagerness in probing the private affairs of the young couple who had hired Flanagan’s boat. He did not, however, feel it necessary to make this obvious retort.
Peter Walsh, the rudder under his arm, went back to Joseph Antony Kinsella, who was still sitting on the edge of the quay.
“She says,” he said, “that without there’s a new iron on that rudder tomorrow morning, she’ll go out to Inishbawn and the young fellow along with her.”
“Let Patsy the smith put it on for her, then.”
“Sure he can’t.”
“And what’s to hinder him?”
“He was drunk an hour ago,” said Peter Walsh, “and he’ll be drunker now.”
“Bedamn then, but you’d better take him down and dip him in the tide, for I’ll not have that young fellow with the sore leg on Inishbawn. If it was only herself I wouldn’t care.”
“I’d be afeard to do it,” said Peter Walsh.
“Afeard of what?”