Испалец в колесе | страница 5

«Not likely» snorted his newly wed wife breaking into a gull-up. «Not likely» she repeated.

The honeymood was don short by a telephant from Mrs El Pifco (his mother) who was apparently leaving Barcelunder to se her eldest sod febore she died laughing, and besides the air would do her good she added. Patrick looked up from her nosebag and giggled.

«Don't joke about Mamma please if you donlang, she are all I have loft in the world and besides your mother's a bit of a brockwurst herselves» said Jesus, «And if she's still alive when she gets here we can throw up a party for her and then she can meet all our ugly Scottish friends» he reflected. «On the other handle we can always use her as a scarecrab in the top field» said Patrick practically.

So they packed their suitcrates marked «his and hearse» and set off for their employers highly home in the highlies.

«We're home Sir» said Jesus to the wizened tartan figure knelt crouching over a bag of sheep.

«Why are ye bask so soon?» inquired the Laird, immediately recognizing his own staff through years of experience. «I've had some bad jews from my Mammy — she's coming to seagull me, if its all ripe with you sir.» The Laird thought for a mumble, then his face lit up like a boiling wart.

«You're all fired» he smiled and went off whistling.