“Sure? Of course it’s sure,” retorted Helen sharply; “but what—what—impertinence!”
Dirty O’Brien saw nothing remarkable in the matter, and his face displayed a waning interest.
“Don’t he most gener’ly drive your team?” he inquired without enthusiasm.
“Of course he does. But he’s s’posed to be right out in the hay sloughs—cutting. I heard Kate tell him this morning.”
O’Brien’s eyes twinkled, and a deep chuckle came from somewhere in the depths of his beard.
“Ken you beat it?” he inquired, with cordial appreciation. “Do you get his play?”
“Play?” The girl turned a pair of angry, bewildered eyes upon her companion. “Impertinence!”
The man nodded significantly.
“Sure. Them two scallywags of yours ain’t got nothin’ to give to the building of the chu’ch. Which means they’ll need to get busy workin’ on it. Guess work never did come welcome to Mister Peter Clancy and Nick. They hate work worse’n washin’—an’ that’s some. Guess they borrowed your team to do a bit o’ haulin’, which—kind o’ squares their account. They’re bright boys.”
“Bright? They’re impertinent rascals and—and—oh!”