“I ken him well,” said Ellen, assuming a knowing look and winking slightly. “It was years ago, he was young—and ye ken yerself.”
“Phew!” Jim whistled, taking the pipe from his mouth and lowering the left eyelid. “He was one of them sort?... Christian Guide, indeed!... A decent man, now, I suppose, and would hardly pass a word with ye!”
“I’m not as good lookin’ as I was.”
“If ye told old baldhead’s wife what ye told me what would she say?”
“Oh! I wadna dae that, Jim. He always paid on the nail.”
“Christian Guide,” sniggered Jim, hurrying to the rail and spitting into the water.
“There are some great dresses on those people,” said Maire a Glan, nipping Dermod Flynn on the thigh with her finger and thumb. “See that woman sittin’ there with the bald-headed man. Her dress is a good one. All the money that ye earned for two whole years in Tyrone would hardly put flounces on it; wouldn’t flounce it, as the man said.”
“Maybe not,” said Dermod, turning round slightly, but still standing in such a way that his bare knee was concealed from everybody on board.
“It’s a great dress, a grand dress and a dress for a queen,” Maire a Glan went on. “Look at the difference between it and the dress that Gourock Ellen is wearin’!”
“Just so,” said Dermod, peeping at the exposed kneecap. “Could ye give me a needle and thread this night, Maire a Glan?” he asked.