"Be the sowl of Moses, ye are! An' wud ye go back agin?"
cried Tim in horror.

"Wud he!" said Nora, with ineffable scorn. "Wud a herrin' swim?
By coorse he'll go back. An' what's more, ye can sind the money to
me an' I'll see that the childer gets the good av it, if I've to
wring the neck av that black haythen, Rosenblatt, like a chicken."

"You will take the money for my children?" enquired the Russian.

"I will that."

He stretched out his hand impulsively. She placed hers in it.
He raised it to his lips, bending low as if it had been the lily
white hand of the fairest lady in the land, instead of the fat,
rough, red hand of an old Irish washer-woman.

"Sure, it's mighty bad taste ye have," said Tim with a sly laugh.
"It's not her hand I'd be kissin'."

"Bad luck to ye! Have ye no manners?" said Nora, jerking away her
hand in confusion.

"I thank you with all my heart," said Kalmar, gravely bowing
with his hand upon his heart. "And will you now and then look
over--overlook--oversee--ah yes, oversee this little girl?"

"Listen to me now," cried Mrs. Fitzpatrick. "Can she clear out
thim men from her room?" nodding her head toward Paulina.