“Well said, Mr. Burke,” replied Hycy; “I am like yourself, becoming exceedingly oracular of late—but, Mr. Cavanagh, touching this exquisite union which is contemplated between Adonis and Juno the ox-eyed—does it still hold good, that, provided always she cannot secure the corrupt clod-hopper, she will in that ease condescend upon Adonis?”
“Gerald,” said the father, “as there's none here so handy at the nonsense as to understand him, the best way is to let him answer himself.”
“Begad, Jemmy,” said Cavanagh, “to tell you the truth, I haven't nonsense enough to answer the last question at any rate; unless he takes to speakin' common-sense I won't undhertake to hould any further discourse wid him.”
“Why will you continue,” said his brother in a low voice, “to render yourself liable to these strong rebuffs from plain people?”
“Well said, most vituline—Solomon secundus, well said.”
“Hycy,” said his mother, “you ought to remimber that every one didn't get the edi cation you did—an' that ignorant people like your father and Gerald Kavanagh there can't undhercomestand one-half o' what you say. Sure they know nothing o' book-lamin', and why do you give it them?”
“Simply to move their metaphysics, Mrs. Burke. They are two of the most notorious metaphysicians from this to themselves; but they don't possess your powers of ratiocination, madam?”
“No,” replied his father; “nayther are we sich judges of horseflesh, Hycy.”
Hycy made him a polite bow, and replied, “One would think that joke is pretty well worn by this time, Mr. Burke. Couldn't you strike out something original now?”
“All I can say is,” replied the father, “that the joke has betther bottom than the garran it was made upon.”