“Ha! ha! ha! don't you, indeed? Faix, then, if you had me, maybe you wouldn't think so—I'm nothin' but a born divil when the fit's on me.”
“Charley Hanlon,” proceeded the strange woman, “bid me ax you for the ould tobaccy-box you promised him last night.”
“Well, but he promised me a handkerchy; have you got it?”
“I have,” replied the other, producing it; “but, then, I'm not to give it to you, unless you give me the box for it.”
“But I haven't the box now,” said Sarah, “how-and-ever, I'll get it for him.”
“Are you sure that you can an' will?” inquired the other.
“I had it in my hand yesterday,” she said, “an' if it's to be had I'll get it.”
“Well, then,” observed the other mildly, “as soon as you get him the box, he'll give you this handkerchy, but not till then.”
“Ha!” she exclaimed, kindling, “is that his bargain; does he think I'd thrick him or cheat him?—hand it here.”
“I can't,” replied the other; “I'm only to give it to you when I get the box.”