“Ould man,” said he “have sinse, an' pass that over, if you have any regard for Phelim.”
“I'd not be brow-bate into anything,” observed Donovan.
“Sowl, you would not,” said Phelim; “for my part, Paddy, I'm ready to marry your daughther (a squeeze to Peggy) widout a ha'p'orth at all, barrin' herself. It's the girl I want, an' not the slip.”
“Thin, be the book, you'll get both, Phelim, for your dacency,” said Donovan; “but, you see I wouldn't be bullied into' puttin' one foot past the other, for the best man that ever stepped on black leather.”
“Whish!” said Appleton, “that's the go! Success ould heart! Give us your hand, Paddy,—here's your good health, an' may you never button an empty pocket!”
“Is all settled?” inquired Molly.
“All, but about the weddin' an' the calls,” replied her husband. “How are we to do about that, Larry?”
“Why, in the name o' Goodness, to save time,” he replied, “let them be called on Sunday next, the two Sundays afther, an thin marrid, wid a blessin'.”
“I agree wid that entirely,” observed Molly; “an' now Phelim, clear away, you an' Peggy, off o' that chist, till we have our bit o' supper in comfort.”
“Phelim,” said Larry, “when the suppers done, you must slip over to Roche's for a couple o' bottles more o' whiskey. We'll make a night of it.”