“No!” replied Jemmy; “the devil resave the stock will go on him this day. Didn't I hear every word that passed? An' what did he say but the thruth, an' what every one knows to be the thruth?”
“Put him in the stocks, I desire you, this instant!”
“Throth if you wor to look at your mug in the glass, you'd feel that you'll soon be in a worse stocks yourself than ever you put any poor craythur into,” replied the redoubtable Jemmy. “Do you be off about your business, in the mane time, you good-natured vagabone, or this ould fire-brand will get some one wid less conscience than I have, that'll clap you in them.”
“Never mind, father,” observed the son; “let the fellow go about his business—he's not worth your resentment.”
The pedlar took the hint and withdrew, accompanied by Jemmy, on whose face there was a grin of triumph that he could not conceal.
“I tould you,” he added, as they went down the steps, “that the same stocks was afore you; an' in the mane time, God pardon me for the injustice I did in keepin' you out o' them.”
“Go on,” replied the other; “devila harsh word ever I'll say to you again.”
“Throth will you,” said Jemmy; “an' both of us will be as fresh as a daisy in the mornin', plaise goodness. I have scarcely any one to abuse me, or to abuse, either, now that the ould masther is so feeble.”
Jemmy extended his hand as he spoke, and gave the pedlar a squeeze, the cordiality of which was strongly at variance with the abuse he had given him.
“God bless you!” said the pedlar, returning the pressure; “your bark is worse than your bite. I'm off now, to mention the reception they gave me and the answers I got, to a man that will, maybe, bring themselves to their marrow-bones afore long.”