“Pretty pliskies ye’ve been at this day!” cried the old lady, with humorous alacrity; and then, “Take care—don’t break my crystal!” she cried, as the lawyer came within an ace of knocking the glasses off the table.
“And how is he keeping?” asked Michael.
“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?” inquired Michael.
“Wantin’? To see him,” replied the housekeeper, completing her meaning by a movement of the thumb toward the upper story. “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.”