It was a kind of song, a recitative, and invocation.
"I tell you I have no change," flashed the flowerless one. "I tell you I have no change."
The priestess of Flora halted and sniffed.
"Change!" said she. "No, nor nothin' to change."
Mr. French laughed as he opened his umbrella and hailed a passing outside car. "Faith," said he, as he mounted on the side of the car, "she's about hit the bull's-eye."
"No, I was only thinking. Drive me to 32 Leeson Street. And where on earth did you pick up this old rattletrap of a horse from?"
"Pick him up!" said the jarvey with a grin. "Faith, the last time I picked him up was when he tumbled down in Dame Street yesterday afternoon, wid a carload of luggudge dhrivin' to Westland Row."
"You seem to have a talent for picking up rubbish, then?" said Mr. French.
"It's the fault of the p'leece," replied the other with an extension of the grin that nature, whisky, and the profession of car-driving had fixed upon his face. "It's the fault of the p'leece, bad 'cess to them!"
"And how's that?" asked Mr. French incautiously.
"Sure, they forbids me to refuse a fare. Jay up, y' divil! What are yiz shyin' at? Did y' never see a barra of greens before? Now thin, now thin, what are you takin' yourself to be, or what ails you, at all, at all?"
The car stopped at 32 Leeson Street. Mr. French descended, gave the jarvey a shilling for his fare and sixpence for a drink, and knocked at the hall door.
Mr. Mead was in, and the old butler, who opened the door, showed the visitor straight into the library--a comfortable, old-fashioned room, where, before a bright fire, Mr. Mead, a small, bright-eyed, apple-cheeked, youthful-looking person of eighty or so, was seated in an armchair reading Jorrocks' "Jaunts and Jollities."
"Why, there you are!" cried Mead, jumping up.
"And there you are!" said Mr. French, clasping the old fellow's hand. "Why, it's younger you're growing every time I see you! Did you get my wire? Oh! you did, did you? Two o'clock! The scoundrels! I sent it off from the Shelbourne at twelve. No matter. And how's the family?"
"All right," replied Mead, putting Jorrocks on the mantelshelf and ringing the bell. "Billy married last winter. You remember I wrote to you? And Kate's engaged--James, a bottle of the blue-seal port!--and what's the news?"