Miss G. Yes, sir, it’s very vulgar to be keeping of kays.
Christy. That’s lucky, for I’ve lost all mine now. Every single kay I have in the wide world now I lost, barring this kay of the spirits, and that must be gone after the rest too I b’lieve, since you know nothing of it, unless it be in this here chist.
{CHRISTY goes to the chest.
Miss G. Oh, mercy, sir!—Take care of the looking-glass, which is broke already. Oh, then, father, ‘tis not in the chist, ‘pon my word and honour now, if you’ll b’lieve: so don’t be rummaging of all my things.
{CHRISTY persists in opening the chest.
Christy. It don’t signify, Florry; I’ve granted myself a gineral sarch-warrant; dear, for the kay; and, by the blessing, I’ll go clane to the bottom o’ this chist. (Miss GALLAGHER writhes in agony.) Why, what makes you stand twisting there like an eel or an ape, child?—What, in the name of the ould one, is it you’re afeard on?—Was the chist full now of love-letter scrawls from the grand signior or the pope himself, you could not be more tinder of them.
Miss G. Tinder, sir!—to be sure, when it’s my best bonnet I’m thinking on, which you are mashing entirely.
Christy. Never fear, dear! I won’t mash an atom of the bonnet, provided always, you’ll mash these apples for me, jewel. (He takes apples out of the chest.) And wasn’t I lucky to find them in it? Oh, I knew I’d not sarch this chist for nothing. See how they’ll make an iligant apple-pie for Mr. Gilbert now, who loves an iligant apple-pie above all things—your iligant self always excipted, dear.
{Miss GALLAGHER makes a slight curtsy, but motions the apples from her.
Miss G. Give the apples then to the girl, sir, and she’ll make you the pie, for I suppose she knows how.