“No,” said the wife, “you never had the spirit; you were ever and always a _molshy_.” (* A womanly, contemptible fellow) “An' yet _molshy_ as I was,” he replied, “you wor glad to catch me. But Hycy, my good boy, I didn't cost my father at the rate of from a hundre'-an'-fifty to two-hundre'-a-year, an' get myself laughed at and snubbed by my superiors, for forcin' myself into their company.” “Can't you let the boy ait his dinner in peace, at any rate?” said his mother. “Upon my credit I wouldn't be surprised if you drove him away from us altogether.” “I only want to drive him into common sense, and the respectful feeling he ought to show to both you an' me, Rosha,” said Burke; “if he expects to have either luck or grace, or the blessing of God upon him, he'll change his coorses, an' not keep breakin' my heart as he's doin'.” “Will you pay for the mare I bought, father?” asked Hycy, very seriously. “I have already told you, that I paid three guineas earnest; I hope you will regard your name and family so far as to prevent me from breaking my word--besides leading the world to suppose that you are a poor man.” “Regard my name and family!” returned the father, with a look of bitterness and sorrow; “who is bringin' them into disgrace, Hycy?” “In the meantime,” replied the son, “I have asked a plain question, Mr. Burke, and I expect a plain answer; will you pay for the mare?” “An' supposin' I don't?” “Why, then, Mr. Burke, if you don't you won't, that's all.” “I must stop some time,” replied his father, “an' that is now. I wont pay for her.” “Well then, sir, I shall feel obliged, as your respectable wife has just said, if you will allow me to eat, and if possible, live in peace.” “I'm speakin' only for your--” “That will do now--hush--silence if you please.” “Hycy dear,” said the mother; “why would you ax him another question about it? Drop the thing altogether.” “I will, mother, but I pity you; in the meantime, I thank you, ma'am, of your advice.” “Hycy,” she continued, with a view of changing the conversation; “did you hear that Tom M'Bride's dead?” “No ma'am, but I expected it; when did he die?” Before his father could reply, a fumbling was heard at the hall-door; and, the next moment, Hogan, thrust in his huge head and shoulders began to examine the lock by attempting to turn the key in it. “Hogan, what are you about?” asked Hycy. “I beg your pardon,” replied the ruffian; “I only wished to know if the lock wanted mendin'--that was all, Misther Hycy.” “Begone, sirra,” said the other; “how dare you have the presumption to take such a liberty? you impudent scoundrel! Mother, you had better pay them,” he added; “give the vagabonds anything they ask, to get rid of them.”