"To be sure I could," said Phelim, "have her thumpin' her breast,
and countin' her Padareens in no time. Would you wish me to have her,
mudher?"

"Throth an' I would, avick."

"That 'ud never do," observed the father. "Sure you don't think she'd
ever think of the likes o' Phelim?"

"Don't make a goose of yourself, ould man," observed Phelim. "Do you
think if I set about it, that I'd not manufacture her senses as asy as
I'd peel a piatee?"

"Well, well," replied the father, "in the name o' Goodness make up to
her. Faith it ud' be somethin' to have a jauntin' car in the family!"

"Ay, but what the sorra will I do for a suit o' clo'es?" observed
Phelim. "I could never go near her in these breeches. My elbows, too,
are out o' this ould coat, bad luck to it! An' as for a waistcoat, why,
I dunna but it's a sin to call what I'm wearin' a waistcoat at all. Thin
agin--why, blood alive, sure I can't go to her barefooted, an' I dunna
but it 'ud be dacenter to do that same, than to step out in sich excuses
for brogues as these. An' in regard o' the stockins', why, I've pulled
them down, strivin' to look dacent, till one 'ud think the balls o' my
legs is at my heels."

"The sorra word's in that but thruth, any how," observed the father;
"but what's to be done? For we have no way of gettin' them."