‘O, just the same, Mr Michael, just the way he’ll be till the end, worthy man!’ was the reply. ‘But ye’ll not be the first that’s asked me that the day.’
‘No?’ said the lawyer. ‘Who else?’
‘Ay, that’s a joke, too,’ said Teena grimly. ‘A friend of yours: Mr Morris.’
‘Morris! What was the little beggar wanting here?’ enquired Michael.
‘Wantin’? To see him,’ replied the housekeeper, completing her meaning by a movement of the thumb toward the upper storey. ‘That’s by his way of it; but I’ve an idee of my own. He tried to bribe me, Mr Michael. Bribe—me!’ she repeated, with inimitable scorn. ‘That’s no’ kind of a young gentleman.’
‘Did he so?’ said Michael. ‘I bet he didn’t offer much.’
‘No more he did,’ replied Teena; nor could any subsequent questioning elicit from her the sum with which the thrifty leather merchant had attempted to corrupt her. ‘But I sent him about his business,’ she said gallantly. ‘He’ll not come here again in a hurry.’
‘He mustn’t see my father, you know; mind that!’ said Michael. ‘I’m not going to have any public exhibition to a little beast like him.’
‘No fear of me lettin’ him,’ replied the trusty one. ‘But the joke is this, Mr Michael—see, ye’re upsettin’ the sauce, that’s a clean tablecloth—the best of the joke is that he thinks your father’s dead and you’re keepin’ it dark.’
Michael whistled. ‘Set a thief to catch a thief,’ said he.