“Have you any money?”
“Money, Art! oh, where would I get it? If I had money I wouldn't be without something' for you to eat, or the childre here that tasted nothin' since airly this mornin'.”
“Ah, you're a cursed useless wife,” he replied, “you brought nothin' but bad luck to me an' them; but how could you bring anything else, when you didn't get your father's blessin'.”
“But, Art, don't you remember,” she said meekly in reply, “you surely can't forget for whose sake I lost it.”
“Well, he's fizzin' now, the hard-hearted ould scoundrel, for keepin' it from you; he forgot who you wor married to, the extortin' ould vagabone—to one of the great Fermanagh Maguires, an' he' not fit to wipe their shoes. The curse o' heaven upon you an' him, wherever he is! It was an unlucky day to me I ever seen the face of one of you—here, Atty, I've some money; some strange fellow at the inn below stood to me for the price of a naggin, an' that blasted Barney Scaddhan wouldn't let me in, bekase, he said, I was a disgrace to his house, the scoundrel.”
“The same house was a black sight to you, Art.”
“Here, Atty, go off and, get me a naggin.”
“Wouldn't it be better for you to get something to eat, than to drink it, Art.”
“None of your prate, I say, go off an' bring me a naggin o' whiskey, an' don't let the grass grow under your feet.”
The children, whenever he came home, were awed into silence, but although they durst not speak, there was an impatient voracity visible in their poor features, and now wolfish little eyes, that was a terrible thing to witness. Art took the money, and went away to bring his father the whiskey.