“No, thank you, I don’t drink spirits. Yes; your mother was well when I saw her.”
“God be praised! It’s a mighty long time since I seen the ould craythur.”
“Fifteen years,” said I.
I looked at Mr. Macartney as I said it, but he had evasive eyes, and they wandered to the doorway. No customers appeared, however, and he looked back to Dennis and Alister, but they had both folded their arms, and were watching us in silence.
“Murther and ages!” he repeated, “it doesn’t feel the half of it.”
“I fancy it seems longer, if anything, to her. But she has been on the look-out for you every day, you see. You’ve a good business, Mr. Macartney, so I dare say you’re a ready reckoner. Fifteen times three hundred and sixty-five? Five thousand four hundred and seventy-five, isn’t it?”
“It’s a fine scholar for a sailor-boy that ye are!”
said Micky; and there was a touch of mischief in his eye and voice which showed that he was losing his temper. I suppose Dennis heard it, too, for he took one bound to my side in a way that almost made me laugh to feel how ready he was for a row. But I knew that, after all, I had no right over the man’s private affairs, warm as was my zeal for old Biddy.
“And you think I might mind my business and leave you to yours, Mr. Macartney?” I said. “But you see your mother was very kind to me, very kind indeed; and when I left Liverpool I promised her if ever I came across you, you should hear of her, and she should hear of you.”
“And why not?” he answered in mollified tones. “It’s mighty good-natured in ye too. But come in, all the three of ye, and have somethin’ to eat and drink for the sake of the old country.”