"My best love to Bessie," Moore called after him, leaning over the banisters.
"Have you the rint?" came from below in the unmistakably Hibernian accents of Mrs. Malone.
"No, I have n't, have you?" shouted the disgusted poet, and hastening back into the room, he shut the door.
"Rank halmost as 'igh as 'im," exclaimed Buster, indignantly. "Well Hi likes 'is himpudence. Say, Mr. Moore, Hi thinks that hold cove is daffy."
"They say genius is akin to madness," replied Moore, stowing the poem away in the drawer of the table, where he kept many productions of his own.
"Then 'ee 's been achin' a long time," replied the boy, misunderstanding the meaning of his master's remark.
Moore laughed gently and did not correct him.
Chapter Ten
IN WHICH THE LANDLADY IS PLAYED A TRICK
In the meantime Mrs. Malone, having pounded upstairs, halted in front of the door, not from politeness, but to regain her breath. Having paused, she decided to knock, unconsciously mindful of Buster's scathing rebuke.