Katy. In the garden, sure. Yees may coom in, if yees wipe yers fate.
Gyp. Yas, indeed! How yer was? And how's Patsy Dolan?
Katy. He's will. I've jist recaved a lether from him.
Gyp. Dat so? Dat's good! Lub-letters am bery consolin' to de flutterin' heart. Got a letter, hab you? S'pose you red it frough and frough.
Katy. Sure I can't rade at all, at all.
Gyp. Dat so? Well, well! De ignoramance ob de foreign poperlation am distressin'.
Katy. Can you rade?
Gyp. Read? What you take me for? How else could I debour de heaps and heaps ob lub-letters dat I constantly receibe from my adorers?
Katy (Aside.) Faith, I'd loike to hear Patsy's lether again. (Aloud.) Thin plase rade this for me. (Hands letter.)
Gyp (confused). Wh-wh-what you take me fur? (Aside.) Golly! she cotch me den. (Aloud.) No, chile: dose tender confections am fur you alone, and dey shouldn't be composed to de world.