“Who?” inquired Andy.
“The hangman” answered his mother; “for breaking doors is hanging matther; and I say the presence of the hangman's always before people when they have such a job to do, and makes them think twice sometimes before they smash once; and so you had only to keep one woman's hands quiet.”
“Faix, some of them would smash a door as soon as not,” said Andy.
“Well, then, you'd have the satisfaction of hanging them,” said the mother, “and that would be some consolation. But even as it is, I'll have law for it—I will—for the property is yours, any how, though the girl is gone—and indeed a brazen baggage she is, and is mighty heavy in the hand. Oh, my poor eye!—it's like a coal of fire—but sure it was worth the risk living with her for the sake of the purty property. And sure I was thinkin' what a pleasure it would be living with you, and tachin' your wife housekeepin', and bringing up the young turkeys and the childhre—but, och hone, you'll never do a bit o' good, you that got sitch careful bringin' up, Andy Rooney! Didn't I tache you manners, you dirty hanginbone blackguard? Didn't I tache you your blessed religion?—may the divil sweep you! Did I ever prevent you from sharing the lavings of the pratees with the pig?—and didn't you often clane out the pot with him? and you're no good afther all. I've turned my honest penny by the pig, but I'll never make my money of you, Andy Rooney!”
There was some minutes' silence after this eloquent outbreak of Andy's mother, which was broken at last by Andy uttering a long sigh and an ejaculation.
“Och? it's a fine thing to be a gintleman,” said Andy.
“Cock you up!” said his mother. “Maybe it's a gintleman you want to be; what puts that in your head, you omadhaun?”
“Why, because a gintleman has no hardships, compared with one of uz. Sure, if a gintleman was married, his wife wouldn't be tuk off from him the way mine was.”
“Not so soon, maybe,” said the mother, drily.
“And if a gintleman brakes a horse's heart, he's only a 'bowld rider,' while a poor sarvant is a 'careless blackguard' for only taking a sweat out of him. If a gintleman dhrinks till he can't see a hole in a laddher, he's only 'feesh—but 'dhrunk' is the word for a poor man. And if a gintleman kicks up a row, he's a 'fine sperited fellow,' while a poor man is a 'disordherly vagabone' for the same; and the Justice axes the one to dinner and sends th' other to jail. Oh, faix, the law is a dainty lady; she takes people by the hand who can afford to wear gloves, but people with brown fists must keep their distance.”