“Now, what if part of the farms, and part of the families were to become united, and get spliced together, eh?”
“Very good, very good.”
“Well, but do you really think so, Brian?”
“Go on, if you please, and let us hear more of it; state your case, as you say at the sessions.”
“Well, then, there's your daughter Mary, a handsome girl, and, by all accounts, as good as she is handsome—and there's my son Phil, who, excepting the cast (* Squint)—is—but, at any rate, if he's no beauty, he's a stout young fellow, for you know yourself that that little closeness about the knees is always a sign of strength.”
“That little closeness, Val!—why, Vulture darling, isn't one knee sugar candy, and the other licking it?—but go on, it's not bad for so far, go on; upon my credit it's not.”
“I am glad you like it for so far—then seriously, what would you think of a marriage between them?”
“Devil a prettier move you could make, Val. As you say, the farms and the families lie convenient to one another—and I don't see what's to prevent your proposal from being realized. You'll do well for Phil, of course—for although he has the squint in both eyes, instead of only in one, like yourself—and is twisted very much about the knees, more than you are a good deal—still, Val—neighbor Val, as I now may call you—he is a stout, left-legged, round-shouldered blade; and I question whether the red poll does not become him better than a black one like yours would.”
“Why I grant you, Brian, that he looks better on horseback than on foot, and when mounted on 'Handsome Harry,' with top-boots and spurs, it's not on every highway you could meet his equal.”
“Devil a lie in that, Val—nor a boy better made to ride or shoot round a corner you could not meet in Europe—but never mind; go on, Val—go on, my friend; no, faith, on hill or in hollow, it would not be easy to match him.”