"Anywhere," screamed he. "Anywhere out of this vagabone neighborhood. Ah! tear an aiges av I thought I was going to be massacreed in this way, I'd a stayed as I was; it's to the very marrow of my bones that I'm sorry for it now."
"Sorry for what, Pether?" said Mrs. Bulworthy; "what in the name of gracious are you raving about?"
"Nothing," replied he, "only it's ravin' with the hunger I am; I feel as if I hadn't had anything to eat for six weeks or more."
"Sure, won't you have something in a few minutes," said she. "There's the turtle soup and curried lobster you ordered for lunch getting ready as fast as it can."
"You don't tell me that; may-be I won't astonish it then," said he, smacking his lips at the delicious anticipation of devouring dishes that, to him, were hitherto apocryphal things.
"Is there anything else you want before I go?"
"Nothing in the world, except, may-be, you might just run over the way and see how Mrs. Duff and the babby is."
"Heigh-day!" screamed Mrs. Bulworthy, bestowing upon him one of her most indignant glances. "I'd like to know what business you have to be thinking of Mrs. Duff and her babby!"
"Would you, really, ma'm? then, if your curiosity is anyway tickled, I'll have you to understand that it's a mighty high regard I entertain for them two people," replied he.
"You do, do you? why, then, it's a face you have to say that same to me, you dirty, miserable, money-scrapin' ignoramus; me, that took such care of your body and sowl for so many years."