“I’ll go round and bruise up yer father,” said he. “I’ll talk to him like a Dutch uncle, I will. Him and the two old ones’ll play light on the ghost game when I get through. They’ll see it ain’t no use. Take a walk with Jimmie, Rosie; don’t go home till youse t’ink I’ve left. I’ll make it right, all right!”
But this was not the only incident of the morning. Annie Clancy stood in the door of the grocery store; and as Goose McGonagle came along he naturally stopped for a chat. The voice of Clancy could be heard grumbling from the interior.
“What’s the matter with yer father?” asked Goose.
“Don’t talk too loud,” warned Annie, with uplifted finger, “he might hear ye. He’s been in an awful temper ever since his half sister, old Miss Cassidy, died. They say she left her money to the Church. He thought he’d git it, and then he’d be able to pay—you know what.”
The milkman nodded.
“I ought to,” answered he, “I can’t t’ink o’ the mess I’m in meself without t’inkin’ o’ that. But his temper don’t cut no ice with me, Annie, I’m goin’ to talk to him to-day if I git t’run down or not.”
“Annie!” called Clancy, angrily. “Sure, what keeps yez glosterin’ be the dure? Come in at wanst, an’ tind till yez bit av wurk.”
“He knows I’m here,” smiled Goose.
“I must go in,” whispered Annie, “good-by.”
Goose started up the street upon his round, muttering: