“Heffernan of the Furry Farm?” said Ratigan; “that’s another I was to ask about.... But from the description I was given of him, he should be a great age by now! Or is he to the good at all?”
“Getting young again he is,” said Moll, “ever since he has Marg there to be minding him and the place....”
“Marg! what Marg is that?” said Ratigan, a bit impatient.
“Why, who but ould Molally’s dauther!” said Moll; “she was none too young, but even so, Mickey might be her father. But what won’t a girl do, to get where there’s money! And he wid a head upon him as grey as a badger!”
Now the reason Moll spoke like that was, she had a spleen in for Marg, because she thought it was she herself had made up that fine match for Marg, with old Heffernan, and that in consequence she ought to be as free to go in and out at the Furry Farm as she used to be at Molally’s, before Marg had quitted it, to become Mrs. Heffernan. But Mickey didn’t like those ways, of having such as Moll too frequent visitors in his house; and Marg never went against him.
“As grey as a badger, is he?” says Ratigan; “well, sure, there’s some says, the bracketty[14] bird is the purtiest of the clutch!”
“Grey; and as lame as a crutch, to the back of that!” says Moll; “a cant off the side-car that caused it. But Mickey was always weak about the legs; born on a fair-day, as the saying is, with the two knees of him boxing for sugar-sticks!”
“Lame of a leg, and grey in the head!” said Ratigan; “that’s a fancy man for a girl to go take!”
“Marg was none too young herself, though fresh and active still,” said Moll; “and when all fruit fails, welcome haws! She wanted some one. But if you have any wish for more information than a poor ould blind body can give you, sir, can’t you go give them a call at the Furry Farm? They do be mostly always within.”
“Well, maybe I would do that,” said Ratigan; though not a notion he had of doing any such thing.