“In that respect,” replied Toal, “I'm ladin' the life of a murdherer. I can't set my face out but there's a pursuit after me—chased an' hunted like a bag fox; devil a lie I'm tellin' you.”
“But do you intend to marry still, Toal?” asked Frank; “bekaise if you don't, it would be only raisonable for you to make it generally known that your mind's made up to die a bachelor.”
“I wouldn't bring the penalty an' expenses of a wife an' family on me, for the handsomest woman livin',” said Toal. “Oh no; the Lord in mercy forbid that! Amin, I pray.”
“But,” said Art, “is it fair play to the girls not to let that be generally known, Toal?”
“Hut,” replied the other, “let them pick it out of their larnin', the thieves. Sure they parsecuted me to sich a degree, that they desarve no mercy at my hands. So, Art,” he proceeded, “you've got another mouth to feed! Oh, the Lord pity you! If you go on this way, what 'ill become of you at last?”
“Don't you know,” replied Art, “that God always fits the back to the burden, and that he never sends a mouth but he sends something to fill it.”
The little extortioner shrugged his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows, turned up his eyes—as much as to say, What a pretty notion of life you have with such opinions as these!
“Upon my word, Toal,” said Art, “the young lady we've got home to us is a beauty; at all events, her godfathers need not be ashamed of her.”
“If she's like her own father or mother,” replied Toal, once more resuming the sugar-candy style, “she can't be anything else than a beauty, It's well known that sich a couple never stood undher the roof of Aughindrummon Chapel, nor walked the street of Ballykeerin.”
Frank winked at Art, who, instead of returning the wink, as he ought to have done, shut both his eyes, and then looked at Toal with an expression of great compassion—as if he wished to say, Poor fellow, I don't think he can be so bad-hearted as the world gives him credit for.