“After chapel,” Jinny explained.
“Oi won’t have no such talk a-Sundays. It’s got to be now. Goo ahead, buoy-oy!”
“Oh, Gran’fer,” Jinny pleaded. “Can’t you go and light Will’s lamps?”
“Ye want to upset it all behind my back,” he said with a cunning air.
“No, I don’t.”
“Ye can’t diddle Daniel Quarles. It’s a fust-rate proposition, and don’t ye dare say ‘Noa.’ ”
“But, Gran’fer!” Jinny hung her head. “You might understand.”
“Oi understand better nor you. Look at that coach now—a grand coach—Quarles and Flynt.”
“Never mind the coach—light the lamps,” Jinny cried paradoxically.
Daniel moved out reluctantly. “It’s a hansum proposition, Jinny,” he said. “Where’s your tinder-box, Willie?”