“Halloo!” replied Mr. Mullins, the cobbler across the way, who, with his window open owing to the mildness of the weather, was whaling away at a shoe-sole, the only busy man in the village.
“Did y’ hear the news?”
“What news?”
“Shan’s going to get a new coat.”
“Faith, thin, I hope he’ll pay first for his ould shoes.”
“How much does he owe you?”
“Siven and six—bad cess to him!”
“He’ll pay you to-night, if he doesn’t drink the money first, for there’s a Mimber of Parlymint goin’ to the meet, and he’ll most like put a suverin in the poor box.”
Mr. Mullins made no reply, but went on whaling away at his shoe, and Bob Mahony, having stepped into his cottage for a light for his pipe, came back and took up his post again at the door.