Mickey kept his promise about giving me further information. I had just thrown myself on the lounge next evening after dinner, when a fiery altercation broke in upon my rest. It was my landlady and Mickey on the stairs. ‘Ye can’t disturb him now, I’m telling ye; he’s only afther his dinner.’
‘But I want to see him particular,’ persisted Mickey, endeavouring to pass her on the stairs.
‘And it’s want ye’ll meet with, thin; ye can watch for him as he goes out in the mornin’.’
‘It’s a matther of life and death, I’m tellin’ ye; and the mornin’ wouldn’t do at all, at all.’
‘Well, and what if it is a matther of life and death? Sure, he isn’t the docthor.’
I now thought proper to interfere. ‘If that is Mickey Mehaffey,’ I said, ‘you may allow him to come up, Mrs M‘Ketchup.’
‘Very well, sor.—Bad luck to the dirthy boots o’ ye!’ This last to Mickey in an undertone.
‘Well, Mickey, shut the door, and let me hear what you have got to say.’
‘I’ve learned it all, sor. Hugh’s Shan gave me all the news this mornin’ afther chapel. He’s wan of the smugglers, ye know, from the island.’
‘What “news” did he give you?’