“Mrs. Burke, father, if you please,” interposed Hycy; “remember who your wife is at all events.”
“Faith, Hycy, she'll come better off if I forget that same; but I tell you that instead of bein' the laughin'-stock of the same Hunt, it's betune the stilts of a plough you ought to be, or out in the fields keepin' the men to their business.”
“I paid three guineas earnest money, at all events,” said the son; “but 'it matters not,' as the preacher says—
“'When I was at home I was merry and frisky,
My dad kept a pig and my mother sold whiskey'—
Beg pardon, mother, no allusion—my word and honor none—to you I mean—
“'My uncle was rich, but would never be aisy
Till I was enlisted by Corporal Casey.'
Fine times in the army, Mr. Burke, with every prospect of a speedy promotion. Mother, my stomach craves its matutinal supply—I'm in excellent condition for breakfast.”
“It's ready. Jemmy, you'll—Misther Burke, I mane—you'll pay for Misther Hycy's mare.”
“If I do—you'll live to see it, that's all. Give the boy his breakwhist.”
“Thank you, worthy father—much obliged for your generosity—