Mrs. M. (indignantly). No! We are temperance people.
Marg. Oh, botheration! Then ye’ll niver do for me, at all at all? It’s wine I must have every day to keep me stummach in tune, and if Barney O’Grath comes in of an evening I should die of mortification if I didn’t have a drop of something to trate him on. And about the peanny. It’s taking lessons I am, meself, and if it’s out of kilter, why, it must be fixed at once. I never could think of playing on a instrument that was ontuned. It might spile me voice.
Mrs. M. I want no servants in my house who are taking music lessons. I hire a girl to do my work—not to dictate to me, and sit in the parlor.
Marg. Ye don’t hire me. No mum! Not by a long walk. It’s not Margaret O’Flanagan that’ll be hosted round by an old sharp-nosed crayter like yerself, wid a mole on yer left cheek, and yer waterfall made out of other folks’ hair! The saints be blessed, me own is an illegant one—and never a dead head was robbed for to make it! ’Twas the tail of me cousin Jimmy’s red horse—rest his soul!
Mrs. M. (pointing to the door). You can leave the house, Miss O’Flanagan. You won’t suit me.
Marg. And you won’t shute me. I wouldn’t work with ye for a thousand dollars a week! It’s not low vulgar people that Margaret O’Flanagan associates with. Good-bye to ye! I pity the girl ye gets. May the saints presarve her—and not a drop of wine in the house! (Margaret goes out.)
Mrs. M. Well, Katrina, are you ready to answer a few questions?
Katrina. Yah; I is.
Mrs. M. Are you acquainted with general housework?
Kat. Nix; I never have seen that shinneral. I know Shinneral Shackson, and Shinneral Grant, but not that one to speak of!