“Yes, me. But look here, old gal; where are you goin’? To have a drink, I suppose?”
“Jus’ so. That’s ’xactly where I’m a-steerin’ to.”
“Well, now,” cried Pat, seizing the woman’s hand, “come along, an’ I’ll give you somethin’ to drink. Moreover, I’ll treat you to some noos as’ll cause your blood to curdle, an’ your flesh to creep, an’ your eyes to glare, an your hair to stand on end!”
Thus adjured, and with curiosity somewhat excited, Mrs Mooney suffered herself to be led to that temperance coffee-tavern in Gorleston to which we have already referred.
“Ain’t it comf’r’able?” asked the boy, as his companion gazed around her. “Now then, missis,” he said to the attendant, with the air of an old frequenter of the place, “coffee and wittles for two—hot. Here, sit down in this corner, old lady, where you can take in the beauties o’ the place all at one squint.”
Almost before he had done speaking two large cups of hot coffee and two thick slices of buttered bread lay before them.
“There you are—all ship-shape. Now drink, an’ no heel-taps.”
Mrs Mooney drank in dumb surprise, partly at the energy and cool impudence of the boy, and partly at the discovery that there was more comfort in hot coffee than she had expected.
“You’ve heard, in course, that the Lively Poll is at the bottom of the North Sea?” said Pat.
Mrs Mooney set down her cup with a sigh and a sudden expression of woe mingled with reproof, while she remarked that there was no occasion to be lighthearted on such a subject.