Kerrigan was looking complacently about him, and now said:
“Ye have the cimetery handy, Reilly.”
“I need to,” the old man replied. “I worrk in it.”
“’T is the fine job,” declared Kerrigan. “Ye can feel all the time how much betther off ye are than yer neighbors. I doubt not ut makes ye consated.”
“There’s thim that are livin’ that make me feel the same,” Reilly said significantly. He glared at Kerrigan, who nodded.
“’T is a habit and grows on ye, like drinkun’,” Kerrigan declared. “What do ye do to cure ut?”
“I choose me own fri’nds mostly,” Reilly said tartly. “Belikes ye will take the hint.”
“I do,” replied Kerrigan. “’T is the raison ye worrk in the cimetery, I tak’ ut; the talk’s wan-sided. Ye’d like thot.”
Kate came out and, seeing her father glowering, sat down by Kerrigan, carelessly placing her hand on the back of his chair.
“My father has taken to you,” she said with a coquettish glance. “He’ll monopolize you. I’ll not see you at all. I’m fair green with the jealousy.”