"I know I do. There isn't a man in the whole wurrld like me father. Not a man in the wurrld. But he says he's a rollin' stone and they don't amount to much in a hard-hearted wurrld that's all for makin' dollars."
"Your father is right," agreed Jerry. "Money is the standard to-day and we're all valued by it."
"And he's got none," cried Peg. Thoughts were coming thick and fast through her little brain. To speak of her father was to want to be near him. And she wanted him there now for that polished, well-bred gentleman to see what a wonderful man he was. She suddenly said:
"Well, he's got me. I've had enough of this place. I'm goin' home now." She started up the staircase leading to the Mauve Room.
Jerry called after her anxiously:
"No, no! Miss O'Connell. Don't go like that."
"I must," said Peg from the top of the stairs. "What will I get here but to be laughed at and jeered at by a lot of people that are not fit to even look at me father. Who are they I'd like to know that I mustn't speak his name in their presence? I love me father and sure it's easier to suffer for the want of food than the want of love!"
Suddenly she raised one hand above her head and in the manner and tone of a public-speaker she astounded Jerry with the following outburst:
"An' that's what the Irish are doin' all over the wurrld. They're driven out of their own country by the English and become wandherers on the face of the earth and nothin' they ever EARN'LL make up to them for the separation from their homes and their loved ones!" She finished the peroration on a high note and with a forced manner such as she had frequently heard on the platform.
She smiled at the astonished Jerry and asked him: