“But suppose” ses he, leening a bit neerer “that the litter was not for you.”
At that I stopped me chopping.
“If its Minnie ye’re swate on——” but here he interrupted and took the paper from his coat and tossed it up in the air.
“Its for Miss Wolley” ses he, “and its from Mr. Harry himself.”
I guv such a joomp me chopping boal wint over, wid all me prishus hash on the flure, and that the last morsil of meet in the house for loonch.
“My God, Mr. Mulvaney!” ses I, “do you mean it?”
He’s very lofty now, and rising oop ses hortily:
“I’d like to see Miss Wolley if you plaze, Miss O’Malley” ses he wid emfasis.
“Shes out” ses I. He moved tord the dure, me aafter him, and I cort him by his slave.
