“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 table-cloth—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.
“Exac’ly what I told him!” cried the delighted dame.
“I’ll make him dance for that,” said Michael.
“Couldn’t ye get the law of him some way?” suggested Teena truculently.
“No, I don’t think I could, and I’m quite sure I don’t want to,” replied Michael. “But I say, Teena, I really don’t believe this claret’s wholesome; it’s not a sound, reliable wine. Give us a brandy and soda, there’s a good soul.” Teena’s face became like adamant. “Well, then,” said the lawyer fretfully, “I won’t eat any more dinner.”
“Ye can please yourself about that, Mr. Michael,” said Teena, and began composedly to take away.
“I do wish Teena wasn’t a faithful servant!” sighed the lawyer, as he issued into King’s Road.
The rain had ceased; the wind still blew, but only with a pleasant freshness; the town, in the clear darkness of the night, glittered with street-lamps and shone with glancing rain-pools. “Come, this is better,” thought the lawyer to himself, and he walked on eastward, lending a pleased ear to the wheels and the million footfalls of the city.