“He had a bad masther then,” says Elizabeth, lookin’ at his dirty boots; “couldn’t you wipe yer feet before ye desthroyed me carpets, young man?”
“Oh, now,” says Essex, “is it wastin’ me time shufflin’ about on a mat you’d have me, when I might be gazin’ on the loveliest faymale the world ever saw.”
“Well,” says the Queen, “I’ll forgive you this time, as you’ve been so long away, but remimber in future that Kidderminster ain’t oilcloth. Tell me,” says she, “is Westland Row Station finished yet?”
“There’s a side wall or two wanted yet, I believe,” says Essex.
“What about the Loop Line?” says she.
“Oh, they’re gettin’ on with that,” says he, “only some people think the girders a disfigurement to the city.”
“Is there any talk about that esplanade from Sandycove to Dunlary?”
“There’s talk about it, but that’s all,” says Essex; “‘twould be an odious fine improvement to house property, and I hope they’ll see to it soon.”
“Sorra much you seem to have done, beyant spendin’ me men and me money. Let’s have a look at that treaty I see stickin’ out o’ your pocket.”
Well, when the Queen read the terms of Hugh O’Neill she just gev him one look, an’ jumpin’ from off the bed, she put her head out of the window, and called out to the policeman on duty—