Having thus spoken, the good man went on his way, telling his beads; perhaps counting by their aid the number of sovereigns required for the construction of his mansion.
“That will make some people sit up if they don’t sink into their brogues,” said Maire a Crick, glancing in turn at Norah Ryan and the beansho. “Mother of Jesus, to have the priest talking to one like that! Who ever heard the likes of it?”
“Do you know how much the priest is goin’ to spend on a lav-ha-thury for his new house?” asked the beansho drily.
“Lav-ha-thury?” said Judy Farrel. “What’s that?”
“Old Oiney Dinchy of Glenmornan said that it is a place for keeping holy water,” said Maire a Crick.
“Holy water, my eye!” said the beansho. “It’s the place where the priest washes himself.”
“I’ve heard of them washin’ themselves away in foreign parts all over and every day,” said a woman. “But they must be far from clean in them places. They just go into big things full of water just as pigs, God be good to us! go into a midden. Father McKee, I wish him rest! used to wash his hands in an old tub, and that’s all the washin’ ever he did, and wouldn’t ye think that a tub was good enough for this man? But what am I talking about!” exclaimed the woman, making the sign of the cross. “Isn’t it the priest that knows what is best to do?”
“He’s goin’ to spend two hundred and fifty pounds on his lav-ha-thury, anyway,” said the beansho. “Two hundred and fifty pounds on one single room of his house! Ye’ll not fill yer own bellies and ye’ll give him a bathroom to wash his!”
“Mercy be on us!” exclaimed Biddy Wor, staring aghast at the beansho. “Ye’re turnin’ out to be a Prodisan, Sheila Carrol. Talkin’ of the priest in that way! No wonder, indeed, that he puts the cross on his forehead when he meets you.”
“No wonder, indeed!” chimed a chorus of voices.