“Dade it was comfortin this saft mornin, Mrs Doolan, an good it was ov the gintlemin to send it to us. It’s a captain ye should be instead ov a mate, my dear.”
“Tell me who stole the tea-kettle from the galley,” yelled the mate.
“Och, dear, don’t be shoutin so loud,” replied Mrs Doolan, “if I be old, I’m not deaf yet. An as for stealin yer dirthy ould tay-kittle, sure I saw the boy with it in his hand this minit.”
“Come, no prevaricating. You know what I mean. Who stole the tea?” cried the mate.
“Mrs Finegan, ye sit there niver saying a word; can’t ye tell this swate gintlemin who stole the tay.”
“You’ll be manin the tay the landlord tould us he paid tin pounds into the hands of the mate to give us on the voyage. Where that tay wint to I don’t know at awl, at awl. Do you, Mrs O’Flaherty?”
“For shame, Mrs Finegan, to be purtindin sich a gintlemin wad kep the tin poun. He’s agoin to give us tay reglar afther this, an (here she raised her tin and drank the last drop) this is the first token. If ye plaze, sir, it would taste betther were ye to put a grain o’ shuggar in it.”
At this, Aileen, who had been quivering with restrained merriment, burst into a ripple of laughter, loud and long, and an echo from beneath showed there were amused auditors at the hatchway. The mate grew purple with wrath. Seizing Mrs O’Flaherty by the shoulder he fairly screamed, “You old hag, you know all about it; show me the thief.”
The woman rose to her feet, her long grey hair hanging damp and limp in straggling locks. With a twinkle in her eye she composedly regarded the mate and dropping him a curtsey, said, she could “not refuse so purlite a gintlemin. Thravellin in furrin parts is as good for manners as a boardin-school eddication, Mrs Finegan.”