“Out of the frying-pan into the fire, you ought to say, Mrs. Mulroony.”
“So he and they fought, and smashed another lot of glass, and then I set out and charged him on the watch. Oh, murdher sheery—to think the way my beautiful beef and greens went!”
Here Mr. Ambrose, approaching Mrs. Mulroony, whispered—“My dear Mrs. Mulroony, remember one word—futurity; heir apparent—heir direct; so be moderate, and a short time will place you in easy circumstances. The event that's coming will be a stunner.”
“What's that he's sayin' to you, my dear Mrs. Mulroony?” asked Ned; “don't listen to him, he'll only soohdher and palaver you. I'll take your charge, and lock him up.”
“Darby,” said Mr. Gray, now approaching that worthy, “a single word with you—we understand one another—I intended to bribe old Ned, the villain; but you shall have it.”
“Very good, it's a bargain,” replied the virtuous Darby; “fork out.”
“Here, then, is ten shillings, and bring me out of it.”
Darby privately pocketed the money, and moving toward Ned, whispered to him—“Don't take the charge for a few minutes. I'll fleece them both. Amby has given me half-a-crown; another from her, and then, half and half between us. Mrs. Mulroony, a word with you. Listen—do you wish to succeed in this business?”
“To be sure I do; why not?”
“Well, then, if you do, slip me five shillings, or you're dished, like one of your own-dinners, and that Amby Gray will slice you to pieces. Ned's his friend at heart, I tell you.”