“'Well, then,' says he, 'if you haven't, 'hair-soup,' which was as much as to say--makin' his own fun before the strangers--that I ought to boil my very wig to plaise him--my front, I mane, 'maybe,' says he, 'you have oxtail.' Well, flesh and blood could hardly bear that, and I said it was a scandal for him to treat an industrious, un-projected widow in such a way; 'if you want a dinner, Mr. Gray,' says I, 'I can give you and your friends a jacketful of honest corned beef and greens.' Well, my dear--” At this insinuating expression of tenderness, old Ned, aware, for the first time, that she was a widow, and kept that most convenient of establishments, an eating-house, cocked his nightcap, with great spirit and significance, and with an attempt at a leer, which, from the force of habit, made him look upon her rather as the criminal than the accuser, he said--“It was scandalous, Mrs. Mulroony; and it is a sad thing to be unprotected, ma'am; it's a pity, too, to see sich a woman as you are without somebody to take care of her, and especially one that id undherstand swindlin'. But what happened next, ma'am?” “Why, my dear--indeed, I owe you many thanks for your kindness--you see, my dear,”--the nightcap here seemed to move and erect itself instinctively--“this fellow turns round, and says to the other four skips--'Gentlemen,' says he, 'could you conde--condescend,' I think it was--yes--'could you condescend to dine upon corned beef and greens? They said, not unless it would oblige him; and then he said it wasn't to oblige him, but to sarve the house he did it. So, to make a long story short, they filled themselves with my victuals, drank seven tumblers of punch each, kept playin' cards the whole night, and then fell a fightin'--smashed glass, delft, and everything; and when it was mornin', slipped out, one by one, till I caught my skip here, the last of them--” “Scamp, Mrs. Roony; a gentleman scamp, known to every one as a most respectable character on town.” “When I caught him going off without payment, he fairly laughed in my face, and offered to toss me.” “Oh, the villain!” said Ned; “I only wish I had been there, Mrs. Mulroony, and you wouldn't have wanted what I am sorry to see you do want--a protector. The villain, to go to toss such a woman--to go to take such scandalous liberties! Go on, ma'am--go on, my dear Mrs. Mulroony.” “Well, my dear, he offered, as I said, to toss me for it--double or quits--and when I wouldn't stand that, he asked me if I would allow him to kiss it in, at so many kisses a-day; but I told him that coin wouldn't pass wid me.” “He's a swindler, ma'am; no doubt of it, and you'll never be safe till you have some one to protect you that understands swindlin' and imposition. Well, ma'am--well, my dear ma'am, what next?”