"I would be calling it a stick only," replied the man.
"That's the name for it surely," said Patsy, "for a stick hasn't got a soul any more than a woman has, and isn't that a great mercy and a great comfort, for heaven would be full of women and wood, and there would be no room for the men and the drink."
The red-haired woman strode to Patsy and, putting her hand against his breast, she gave him a great push:
"If you're talking," said she, "or if you're fighting, turn to myself, for the man doesn't know you."
Patsy did turn to her with a great laugh:
"It's the one pleasure of my life to have your hands on me," he gibed. "Give me another puck now, and a hard one, the way I'll feel you well."
The woman lifted her ash-plant threateningly and crouched towards him, but the look on his face was such that she let her hand fall again.
"You're full of fun," said Patsy, "and you always were, but we're going to be the great friends from now on, yourself and myself and the man with the stick; we'll be going by short cuts everywhere in the world, and having a gay time."
"We're not going with you, Padraig," said the woman, "and whatever road you are taking this day the man and myself will be going another road."
"Whoo!" said Patsy, "there are roads everywhere, so you're all right, and there are men on every one of the roads."