“Goodness mercy!” cried Grannie.
“Lord alive!” cried Nancy.
And the two women went indoors, threw their aprons over their heads, and rocked themselves in their seats.
“Aw boy veen! boy veen!”
Kate came tottering in, ghostly white, and the women fell to comforting her, thereby making more tumult with their soothing moans than Kate with her crying.
“Chut'! Put a good face on it, woman,” said Black Tom. “A whippa of a girl like you will be getting another soon, and singing, 'Hail, Smiling Morn!' with the best.”
“Shame on you, man. Are you as drunk as Mackillya?” cried Nancy. “Your own grandson, too!”
“Never another for Kate, anyway,” wept Grannie. “Aw boy veen, aw boy veen!”
“Maybe he had another himself, who knows?” said Black Tom. “Out of sight out of mind, and these sailor lads have a rag on lots of bushes.”
Kate was helped to her room upstairs, Philip sat down in the kitchen, the news spread like a curragh fire, and the barroom was full in five minutes. In the midst of all stood Cæsar, solemn and expansive.