“What’ll yez drink?”
“Nothing, Clancy,” said the officer; “but yez better go home.”
Clancy turned around with an assumption of gravity and started for the door, for he was a little afraid of Norah.
She heard him coming, as he stumbled up the stairs, and waited for him. But as he grasped the knob of the door it opened of its own accord, and Clancy was precipitated against the kitchen table, which was set for supper. Concluding that it would be unwise to move under the existing circumstances, he remained leaning on the table and waited. He had n’t long to wait, however, for Norah began,—
“Mike, give me your money!”
He started to remonstrate, but quailed before the terrible look in her eye, and emptied his pocket on the table.
Norah counted it over.
“Three dollars an’ a half is missin’, Clancy, and yez eat cold corned-bafe to-morrer, av ye plaze.”
With this, Mrs. Clancy left the room and slammed the door.