"Am I to die of old age in my own hall?" demanded Mrs. Malone, waxing indignant.
"You 'as your choice hof complaints, madam," replied Buster, opening the door.
"You limb!" said she, misunderstanding the lad's unusual politeness. "I 'll not have any half-baked omadhaun cursing me."
"Curse you, Mrs. Malone? Himpossible, hon my word of honer. W'y Hi 'as narthin but blessin's fer you, sweetheart."
Mrs. Malone aimed a blow at Buster's ear, and, as he dodged successfully, swung half around with the misspent energy of her effort. Buster sought safety in the hall, but thrust his head in the doorway.
"Mr. Moore his taking 'is cold bawth," he announced, loudly.
A splashing of water coming from behind the screen corroborated the lad's statement.
"Taking his bath, is he?" said Mrs. Malone. "It's the only thing he can take widout getting arresthed."
"Hit's 'is hown, Mrs. Malone."
"Are you sure of thot?"