“Why, he—he's a devilish pleasant little fellow, any way, so he is; throth it's he that spakes well of you, at any rate; if he was ten times worse than he is, he has a tongue in his head that will gain him friends.”
“I see, Art,” said Frank, laughing, “he has been layin' it thick an' sweet on you. My hand to you, there's not so sweet-tongued a knave in the province; but mind, I put you on your guard—he's never pure honey all out, unless where there's bitther hatred and revenge at the bottom of it—that's well known, so be advised and keep him at a distance; have nothin' to do or to say to him, and, as to havin' him for a godfather, why I hardly think the child could thrive that he'd stand for.”
“It's too late for that now,”, replied Art, “for I axed him betther than three weeks agone.”
“An' did he consint?”
“He did, to be sure.”
“Well, then, keep your word to him, of coorse; but, as soon as the christenings over, drop him like a hot potato.”
“Why, thin, that's hard enough, Frank, so long as I find the crathur civil.”
“Ay, but, Art, don't I tell you that it's his civility you should be afeard of; throth, the same civility ought to get him kicked a dozen times a day.”
“Faix and,” said Art, “kicked or not, here he comes; whisht! don't be oncivil to the little bachelor at any rate.”
“Oncivil, why should I? the little extortionin' vagabone never injured or fleeced me; but, before he puts his nose into the house, let me tell you wanst more, Art, that he never gets sweet upon any one that he hasn't in hatred for them at the bottom; that's his carracther.”