Mattie, who was playing around the corner, was summoned.
“Now, Mattie, just mind the stand, and don’t be runnin’ away, or them boys will get away wid my whole mornin’s profits. Do you hear?”
“Yes, mum.”
“And don’t you be eatin’ all the while you are here. Here’s one apple you can have,” and the apple-woman carefully picked out one that she considered unsalable.
“That’s specked, Mrs. O’Keefe,” objected Mattie.
“And what if it is? Can’t you bite out the specks? The rest of the apple is good. You’re gettin’ mighty particular.”
Mattie bit a piece out of the sound part of the apple, and, when Mrs. O’Keefe was at a safe distance, gave the rest to a lame bootblack, and picked out one of the best apples for her own eating.
“Bridget O’Keefe is awful mane wid her apples!” soliloquized Mattie, “but I’m too smart for her. Tryin’ to pass off one of her old specked apples on me! If I don’t take three good one I’m a sinner.”
Arrived at the front of the saloon, Mrs. O’Keefe penetrated the interior, and met Tim near the door.
“Have you come in for some whiskey, old lady?” asked Tim, in a jesting tone.