“Are ye goin’ about slate?”
“No, not just about slate,” father hedged.
“Is it sheep?”
“No, not exactly sheep.”
Mrs. Griffiths by this time regarded her husband with alarm.
“Ye’ve not been to Liverpool in twenty years; am I goin’?”
“Why, no, mother, I’ll travel there one day and back the next. I’m—I’m a-goin’ just—I’m a-goin’ for the trip.”
“For the trip!” sniffed Mrs. Griffiths.
“What’ll I bring ye, mother?”