Emily was quite delighted. She liked Old Kelly and thought that a drive on his fine red wagon would be quite an adventure. Her little black box was hoisted to the roof and tied there and they went clinking and glittering down the New Moon lane in fine style. The tins in the bowels of the wagon behind them rumbled like a young earthquake.
“Get up, my nag, get up,” said Old Kelly. “Sure, an’ I always like to drive the pretty gurrls. An’ when is the wedding to be?”
“Whose wedding?”
“The slyness av her! Your own, av coorse.”
“I have no intention of being married—immediately,” said Emily, in a very good imitation of Aunt Elizabeth’s tone and manner.
“Sure, and ye’re a chip av the ould block. Miss Elizabeth herself couldn’t have said it better. Get up, my nag, get up.”
“I only meant,” said Emily, fearing that she had insulted Old Kelly, “that I am too young to be married.”
“The younger the better—the less mischief ye’ll be after working with them come-hither eyes. Get up, my nag, get up. The baste is tired. So we’ll let him go at his own swate will. Here’s a bag av swaties for ye. Ould Kelley always trates the ladies. Come now, tell me all about him.”
“About who?”—but Emily knew quite well.
“Your beau, av coorse.”
“I haven’t any beau. Mr. Kelly, I wish you wouldn’t talk to me about such things.”
“Sure, and I won’t if ’tis a sore subject. Don’t ye be minding if ye haven’t got one—there’ll be scads av them after a while. And if the right one doesn’t know what’s good for him, just ye come to Ould Kelly and get some toad ointment.”
Toad ointment! It sounded horrible. Emily shivered. But she would rather talk about toad ointment than beaux.
