“Don’t put in your prate,” says he, “you ignorant sthrap,” says he. “You’re vulgar, woman—you’re vulgar—mighty vulgar; but I’ll have nothin’ more to say to any dirty snakin’ thrade again—divil a more waivin’ I’ll do.”
“Oh, Thady, dear, and what’ll the children do then?”
“Let them go play marvels,” says he.
“That would be but poor feedin’ for them, Thady.”
“They shan’t want for feedin’,” says he, “for it’s a rich man I’ll be soon, and a great man too.”
“Usha, but I’m glad to hear it, darlin’, though I dunna how it’s to be; but I think you had betther go to bed, Thady.”
“Don’t talk to me of any bed but the bed o’ glory, woman,” says he, lookin’ mortial grand.
“Oh! God sind we’ll all be in glory yet,” says the wife, crossin’ herself; “but go to sleep, Thady, for this present.”
“I’ll sleep with the brave yit,” says he.
“Indeed, an’ a brave sleep will do you a power o’ good, my darlin’,” says she.