“Is there anything to be laughed at in what I am saying, most amiable Mrs. Hogan?” he asked.
Kate gave either a feigned or a real start as he spoke.
“Laughed at!” she exclaimed, as if surprised; “throth I wasn't thinkin of you at all, Mr. Hycy. What wor you sayin'?”
“That if my name ever happens to be mentioned in connection with this business, I'll send the whole kit of you—hammers, budgets, and sothering-irons—to hell or Connaught; so think of this now, and goodnight.”
“There goes as d——d vagabond,” said Ned, “as ever stretched hemp; and only that it's our own business to make the most use we can out of him, I didn't care the devil had him, for I don't like a bone in his skin.”
“Why,” said Philip, “I see what he's at now. Sure enough he'll put the copin'-stone on Bryan. M'Mahon at any rate—that, an' if we can get the house and place out of him—an' what need we care?”
“Send us to hell or Connaught,” said Kate; “well, that's not bad—ha! ha! ha!”
“What are you neigherin' at?” said her husband; “and what set you a-caoklin' to his face a while ago?”
She shook her head carelessly. “No matther,” she replied, “for a raison I had.”
“Would you let me know your raison, if you plaise?”