Mrs. C. It is that, thank God, but the winter’s comin’ at last, and it comes to all, both great and small.
Mr. C. Ah! but for all that it doesn’t come to all alike. Nowhere are you, ma’am, fat, rosy and good-lookin’, equally swate as a summer greenin’, a fall pippin or a winter russet—
Mrs. C. Arrah, hould your whist, now. Much an old bachelor like you knows about apples or women. But come in, Mr. Costello, and take a cup o’ tay with me, for I was only standin’ be the door lookin’ at the people passin’ for company sake, like, and I’m sure the kittle must have sung itself hoarse. [Mr. C. enters and sits.]
Mr. C. It’s very cosy ye are here, Mrs. Cummiskey.
Mrs. C. Yes. [Lays the supper.] It is that whin I do be havin’ company.
Mr. C. Ah! it must be lonesome for you with only yer cat and the cup o’ tay.
Mrs. C. Sure it is. But sit up to the table, Mr. Costello. Help yourself to this fish, and don’t furget the purtaties. Look at them; they’re splittin’ their sides wid laughin’. [She pours tea.]
Mr. C. I’m sensible of the comforts of a home, Mrs. Cummiskey, though I’ve none meself. Mind now, the difference between the taste o’ tay made and sarved that way and the tay they gives you in an aitin’-house.
Mrs. C. Sure there’s nothin’ like a little home of yer own. I wonder yer never got marrit, Mr. Costello.
Mr. C. I was about to make the same remark in rifference to yerself, ma’am.