"Well, he will be bate then, Mrs. Flanagan, you may be sure of that," said the old woman, diving her hand into her pocket to see that the strap was safe.
"Then you're a bad, cruel woman, to bate that poor motherless child," said Mrs. Flanagan, with spirit.
"Say that again, Mrs. Flanagan," ejaculated Mother Watson, irefully. "My hearin' isn't as good as it was, and maybe I didn't hear you right."
"No wonder your hearin' isn't good," said Mrs. Flanagan, who now broke bounds completely. "I shouldn't think you'd have any sense left with the whiskey you drink."
"Perhaps you mean to insult me," said the old woman, glaring at her hostess with one of the frowns which used to send terror to the heart of poor Mark.
"Take it as you please, mum," said Mrs. Flanagan, intrepidly. "I'm entirely willin'. I've been wanting to spake my mind a long while, and now I've spoke it."
Mother Watson clutched the end of the strap in her pocket, and eyed her hostess with a half wish that it would do to treat her as she had treated Mark so often; but Mrs. Flanagan with her strong arms and sturdy frame looked like an antagonist not very easily overcome, and Mrs. Watson forbore, though unwillingly.
Meanwhile the tea was beginning to emit quite a savory odor, and the wily old woman thought it best to change her tactics.
Accordingly she burst into tears, and, rocking backward and forward, declared that she was a miserable old woman, and hadn't a friend in the world, and succeeded in getting up such a display of misery that the soft heart of Mrs. Flanagan was touched, and she apologized for the unpleasant personal observations she had made, and hoped Mother Watson would take the tea.
To this Mother Watson finally agreed, and intimating that she was faint, Mrs. Flanagan made some toast for her, of which the cunning old woman partook with exceeding relish, notwithstanding her state of unhappiness.