Christy. There’s a nice girl, and a ‘cute cliver girl, worth a dozen of your Ferrinafads.
{BIDDY throws the onions out from under the press, while he speaks.
Miss G. Then she’s as idle a girl as treads the earth, in or out of shoe-leather, for there’s my bed that she has not made yet, and the stairs with a month’s dust always; and never ready by any chance to do a pin’s worth for one, when one’s dressing.
{A drum heard; the sound seems to be approaching near.
Christy. Blood! the last rowl of the drum, and I not got the kay of the spirits.
Miss G. Oh, saints above! what’s gone with my plaid scarf?—and my hair behind, see!
{Miss GALLAGHER twists up her hair behind.—BIDDY gathers up the onions into her apron, and exit hastily.—CHRISTY runs about the room in a distracted manner, looking under and over every thing, repeating—The kay! the kay! the kay!
Christy. For the whiskey must be had for them Scotch, and the bottled beer too for them English; and how will I get all or any without the kay? Bones, and distraction!
Miss G. And my plain hanke’cher that must be had, and where will I find it, in the name of all the damons, in this chaos you’ve made me out of the chist, father? And how will I git all in again, before the drum-major’s in it?
Christy. (sweeping up a heap of things in his arms, and throwing them into the chest) Very asy, sure! this ways.