"Ah, is it possible?" said the son, with a sneer. "Are you sure of that,
now?"
"Nor no spendthrift, Hycy."
"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.
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