The side door swung open, admitting Mrs. Nolan, in a greasy wrapper, her face puffy with drink.
“Good mornin’ till yez gintlemen,” to the nodding, grinning group at the table. “It’s takin’ Willie a-walkin’ I am, this foine mornin’.” As she spoke, Mrs. Nolan flourished a kettle in the air and then banged it down upon the bar. “Tin cints worth av mixed,” requested she.
Kelly jerked the can under the spigot with professional dexterity and watched it, pondering.
“I’ll be goin’, James,” said O’Hara.
“Stop an’ have a sup on the house.”
“Another toime. Faith, me business’ed suffer from two drinks av yez whisky.”
The second-hand man departed and Kelly slid the filled can along the bar, the froth creaming down its sides.
“I’ve had a surprise, Mrs. Nolan,” said he.
“Small blame till yez, Kelly; arrah, it’s all the news yez hear as ye stan’ behind yez bar, so yez do!”
“It will surprise ye, mam,” spoke Kelly solemnly. “Rosie O’Hara is till take up wid Larry!”