“Listen til the monkey! An' what has he done, will ye tell me?”
“Well,” said Ben, ignoring Tommy's opprobrious epithet, “I hain't got a day to spend, but, to begin with, there's two churches up the Windermere which—”
“Churches, is it? Sure an' what is a church good fer but to bury a man from, forby givin' the women a place to say their prayers an' show their hats?”
“As I was sayin',” continued Ben, “there's two churches up the Windermere. I hain't no saint, an' I hain't no scholar, but I goes by them as is, an' I know that there's Miss Margaret, an' I tell you”—here Ben solemnly removed his pipe from his mouth and, holding it by the bowl, pointed the stem, by way of emphasizing his words, straight at Tommy's face—“I tell you she puts them churches above even this 'ere hinstitution!” And Ben sat back in his chair to allow the full magnitude of this fact to have its full weight with Tommy. For once Tommy was without reply, for anything savouring of criticism of Miss Margaret or her opinions was impossible to him.
“An' what's more,” continued Ben, “this 'ere hinstitution in which we're a-sittin' this hour wouldn't be 'ere but fer that same preacher an' them that backs him up. That's yer churches fer yeh!” And still Tommy remained silent.
“An' if yeh want to knew more about him, you ask Magee there, an' Morrison an' Old Cap Jim an' a 'eap of fellows about this 'ere preacher, an' 'ear 'em talk. Don't ask me. 'Ear 'em talk w'en they git time. They wuz a blawsted lot of drunken fools, workin' for the whiskey-sellers an' the tin-horn gamblers. Now they're straight an' sendin' their money 'ome. An' there's some as I know would be a lot better if they done the same.”
“Manin' mesilf, ye blaggard! An' tis thrue fer ye. But luk at the docthor, will ye, ain't he down on the whiskey, too?”
“Yes, that's w'at I 'ear,” conceded Ben. “But e'll soak 'em good at poker.”
“Bedad, it's the truth ye're spakin,” said Tommy enthusiastically. “An' it wud do ye more good than a month's masses to see him take the hair aff the tin horns, the divil fly away wid thim! An' luk at the 'rid lights'—”
“'Red lights'?” interrupted Ben. “Now ye're talkin'. Who cleared up the 'rid lights' at Bull Crossin'.”