When Ned had gone out, as before mentioned, Phil remarked:—
“I wouldn’t rouse him like that, Mag, if I was you.”
“But he’s so aggravatin’,” pleaded Mrs Crashington.
“He ain’t half so aggravatin’ as you are,” replied Phil, gruffly. “I don’t understand your temper at all. You take all the hard words I give you as meek as a lamb, but if he only offers to open his mouth you fly at him like a turkey-cock. However, it’s no business o’ mine, and now,” he added, rising, “I must be off.”
“So, you won’t tell me before you go, what sort of employment you’ve got?”
“No,” replied Phil, shortly.
“Why not, Phil?”
“Because I don’t want you to know, and I don’t want your husband to know.”
“But I won’t tell him, Phil.”
“I’ll take good care you can’t tell him,” returned Phil, as he fastened a worsted comforter round his hairy throat. “It’s enough for you to know that I ain’t starvin’ and that the work pays, though it ain’t likely to make my fortin’.”