“Jist putting in a few of Miss Amy’s—”
“Mrs,” said Frank, sharply, and Tim slapped his own mouth.
“Av coorse,” he said. “A few crapers and a bit of chumpadah, and some scinted things she likes. Oh, it’s a baste of a place, but one must make the best of it.”
“Why don’t you go back to the old country, then?” said Ned.
Tim gave him a droll look.
“Bekase I’m a Driscol, sor.”
“And what’s that got to do with it?”
“Sure, Masther Ned, there nivver was a Driscol yet who didn’t know when he was well off.”
“Why, Ned,” cried Frank, laughing, “he’s a philosopher.”
“Yis, sor,” said Tim, “and I get more so every day. But, by your lave, when are you young gentlemen going back?” They answered together: “I don’t know.”