"All right, Dick," said I, having had time to recover my temper. "The fact is that Andy has started some chaff on me about bogs—meaning girls thereby—every time he mentions the word to me; and now he seems to accuse me in some way about a girl that came to meet her father that night I left him home at Knockcalltecrore. You know, Joyce, that Murdock has ousted from his farm. Now, look here, Andy! You're a very good fellow, and don't mean any harm; but I entirely object to the way you're going on. I don't mind a button about a joke. I hope I'm not such an ass as to be thin-skinned about a trifle, but it is another matter when you mention a young lady's name alongside mine. You don't think of the harm you may do. People are very talkative, and generally get a story the wrong end up. If you mention this girl—whatever her name is"
"Poor Miss Norah!" struck in Andy, and then ostentatiously corrected himself—"I big yer 'an'r's pardon, Miss Norah, I mane."
"This Miss Norah along with me," I went on, "and especially in that objectionable form, people may begin to think she is wronged in some way, and you may do her an evil that you couldn't undo in all your lifetime. As for me, I never even saw the girl. I heard her speak in the dark for about half a minute, but I never set eyes on her in my life. Now, let this be the last of all this nonsense! Don't worry me any more; but run in and tell Mrs. Keating to give you a skinful of punch, and to chalk it up to me."
