Kerrigan stopped short.
“We’ll go now,” he said stiffly.
“With all my heart,” retorted Michael, and turned back. But Kate caught Kerrigan’s arm, pulling him forward.
“Would you leave a girl in the middle of a walk to go following after a joker like Michael?” she cried. “Sure, he was always up to his tricks. It’s some little, small joke on his father, the poor old man. I’ll have naught to do with it.”
The two men stood glaring at each other, the grimness of Kerrigan’s face being lighted, however, as he stood with his back to Kate, by a sly wink.
“Is ut a joke?” he demanded.
“Would you call the lady a liar?” Michael asked hotly. “She says it’s a joke; and if she says it’s one, it is, even if it isn’t. Are your manners as awry as your face?”
“I niver quarrel before ladies, but we’ll take a walk soon and try to match faces,” Kerrigan said significantly.
“You couldn’t please me more if you asked me to your wake,” Michael airily replied.
“Oh, Father, there’s your little workhouse,” nervously called Kate. “I left something in it when I brought you your dinner-pail Thursday. I’ll get it now, if you have your key, though I’m thinking you’ve forgotten it, as usual.”