How much soever the fosterer might have been flattered into a temporary flirtation by the declared preference of a pretty woman, still, true to the cantatrice and plighted faith, he declined the offer. But Mrs. Spicer was not easily to be refused; and considering that charms might do much, but money more, she added that inducement. Taking a key from her bosom, she proceeded to unlock a strong cupboard built into the Avail of the apartment, and, from external appearances, formed for a place of security.
“This,” she said, “is the place the ould fellow keeps his cash in—and may be ye’ll be after askin’, how I came by the key?—Feaks, an’ I’ll tell ye.—You see, Spicer used to get mixed when any of the lodgers would stand the liker—and we had a cracksman over-head, and he was so smart a young man, and so obligin’! Well, I picks the ould file’s pocket, an’ he blind drunk; and, before he woke again, Sam Parkins had fitted this one to the lock. Poor Sam!—he was a spicy cove not like the dark sneaking body-snatcher that came after him.‘Gad, I’m half afeerd to go up the stairs at night, for fear I would tumble over a stiff-un in a sack, as I did last Tuesday comm late from Con Halligin’s house-warmin’.” As she spoke, she applied the key, while the fosterer was lost between feelings of astonishment and disgust.
“Stop! What are you doing?” he exclaimed. But the deed was already done, and Mr. Spicer’s treasury feloniously opened to inspection. From this depositary, his faithless spouse produced a small box; and on lifting the lid, the fosterer perceived that it contained a number of bank notes, with money in every variety of coinage, being the produce of that worthy gentleman’s long and industrious life. The lady looked at her intended lover with a smile of triumph—
“You see, Mark dear, I won’t go to you empty-handed.”
“Whose property is that?” inquired the fosterer, suspiciously.
“Whose but the ould screw’s,” returned the lady. “Say but the word, and, Mark, every shilling shall be yours.”
“What! would you rob? and rob your husband too?” ^
“Ay, and not leave the ould rogue a mag to bless himself upon,” returned the unblushing offender.
“Let me out!” exclaimed the indignant fosterer. “By heaven! I should fear if I remained longer that the roof would fall!”
“Stay, Mark darline”—and Mrs. Spicer endeavoured to arrest the escape of her refractory admirer. “Where will you get one that loves you so tenderly, and that will bring you such a lump of money into the bargain as myself?”