"Sure, you're not done yet, man alive."
"Enough is as good as a feast, ma'am," replied Andy.
"Augh! sure the morsel you took is more like a fast than a feast," said the cook, "and it's not Lent."
"It's not lent, sure enough," said Larry Hogan, with a sly grin; "it's not lent, for you gave it to him."
"Ah, Misther Hogan, you're always goin' on with your conundherums," said the cook; "sure, that's not the lent I mane at all—I mane Good Friday Lent."
"Faix, every Friday is good Friday that a man gets his supper," said Larry.
"Well, you will be goin' on, Misther Hogan," said the cook. "Oh, but you're a witty man; but I'd rather have a yard of your lace, any day, than a mile o' your discourse."
"Sure, you ought not to mind my goin' on, when you're lettin' another man go off, that-a-way," said Larry, pointing to Andy, who, hat in hand, was quitting the kitchen.
"Faix an' he mustn't go," said the cook; "there's two words to that bargain;" and she closed the door, and put her back against it.
"My mother's expectin' me, ma'am," said Andy.