“An' thunder an' fury?” exclaimed Connor, his eyes gleaming; “did you go to betray trust, an' mintion Una's name an' mine, afther what I tould you?”
“Don't be foolish, Connor,” replied Flanagan; “is it mad you'd have me to be? I said there was something expected soon, that 'ud surprise them; and when they axed me what it was—honor bright! I gave them a knowin' wink, but said notion'. Eh! was that breakin' trust? Arrah, be me sowl, Connor, you don't trate me well by the words you spoke this blessed minute.”
“An' how does it come, Bartle, my boy, that you had one story last night, an' another to-day?”
“Faix, very aisily, bekase I forget what I sed last night—for sure enough I was more cut than you thought—but didn't I keep it well in before the ould couple?”
“You did fairly enough; I grant that—but the moment you got into the barn a blind man could see it.”
“Bekase I didn't care a button wanst I escaped from the eye of your father; anyhow, bad luck to it for whiskey; I have a murdherin' big heddick all day afther it.”
“It's a bad weed, Bartle, and the less a man has to do with it, the less he'll be throubled afther wid a sore head or a sore conscience.”
“Connor, divil a one, but you're the moral of a good boy; I dunna a fault you have but one.”
“Come, let us hear it.”
“I'll tell you some day, but not now, not now—but I will tell you—an' I'll let you know the raison thin that I don't mintion it now; in the mane time I'll sit down an take a smoke.”