“What college?”
“The collidge where the young priests is med.”
“Oh! dear, no, Mrs. Clancy,” he replied, laughing heartily. “I am a painter.”
“A painther!” she said in considerable astonishment.
“Yes, a poor painter.”
“Musha, now, but that flogs. An’ what are ye goin’ for to paint?”
“Anything that turns up.”
She thought for a moment, hesitated a little, scrutinized his apparel, hesitated again, and at length, “Wud ye be afther doin’ his riverince a good turn?”
“I should be only too delighted.”
“Thin ye might give the back doore a cupple o’ coats o’ paint afore ye go.”