fist out of his whiskers.
“Let it go to Jericho!” says King John.
“’Twouldn’t be the first time ’twas there, anyhow” says the Mayor,
who was fond of his joke.
“’Tis a quare man you are,” says King John, thryin’ to smother a
laugh; “but go on, you bla’guard,” says he, “an’ put me on dhry land
at wance, an’ no more of your thricks.”
“Never fear!” says the Mayor; “an’ I hopes we’re none the worst
frinds afther all’s said an’ done.”
“None the worse,” says King John, “only we’ll be betther frinds as
soon as you land me in a hard spot.”
So the Mayor put his best fut forward an’ in a few minutes himself
an’ the King were shakin’ hands wud the Corporation.
“You’ll catch your death of cowld,” says the Mayor to King John,
“if you stand there much longer wudout your crown. Have you any
objection,” says he, “to wearin’ my hat for a spell until they have
time to forge a new figure-head for you?”
“Not the laiste objection in life,” says King John, fixin’ the
Mayor’s hat on his head. “But ’tis dhry work, shakin’ hands, boys,”
says he, addhressin’ the crowd assembled on the quay; “so the sooner
we shapes our coorse for the nearest _shebeen_ the betther I’ll like
it, at any rate.”
“Bravo!” says the Corporation, startin’ a procession wud King John at
the head of ’em an’ a fife an’ dhrum band from Ballybricken follyin’
up in the rear.
Well, to cut a long story short, King John whin he was laivin’
Watherford made a present of his borrowed _caubeen_ to the
Corporation; an’ if you doubts my word you can go down to the
Town Hall any day an’ ax to see King John’s hat, an’ the Mayor’s
secrethary will show you the self-same wan that King John got the
loan of from the ould anshent Mayor—an’ a very dilapidated speciment
of head gear it is too.
That’s the true story of how King John lost his crown in the wash of
the Pill, as the little sthrame is called; an’ sure ’tis known as
John’s Pill to this day.
[Illustration: THE ESCAPE OF JAMES THE SECOND.]
[Illustration: (banner) The Wonderful Escape of JAMES II]
It was a little before the dawn of a July mornin’ many year ago, when
Jimmy Murphy, a thin, spare man that kept the enthrance gates of the
bridge of Watherford, at the County Kilkenny side, was roused out of
a sound sleep by a terrible clatther.
He jumped up off his bed an’ came out of the toll-house rubbin’ his
eyes, an’ the first thing he caught a glimpse of was the flash of
steel. There wasn’t much light in the sky, an’ it tuk little Jimmy
the best part of a minute before he spied a horseman outside, who was
runnin’ his swoord back and for’a’d along the bars of the gates just
like a little scamp of a boy when he’s passin’ a set of railin’s wud
a stick in his hand.
“Howld your row, will you?” shouts Jimmy at the horseman.
“Open! open! quick!” shouts the horseman back at him. “I’m in a
desperate hurry, my good man.”
“Take it aisy!” says Jimmy. “I’m not hard of hearin’, thanks be to
Heaven! What’s your business at this time of night?”
“I’m James the Second,” says the man on the horse, “an’ King Billy’s
sogers are hot fut afther me.”
“Ah thin,” says Jimmy, undher his breath, “so ’tis to ‘dirty Shamus’
I’m spaykin’!”
“What’s that you’re muttherin’?” says King James.
“_Naboclish!_” says Jimmy Murphy.
“Thranslate that,” says King James, “for I’m a poor hand at the
Irish.”
“So I’ve heard,” says Jimmy. “It manes God save the King.”
“Which King?” axes James the Second.
“Yerself, of coorse,” says Jimmy.
“If that’s your mind,” says King James, “you’d betther let me through
at wance, for if the Orangemen catches me ’tis mince-mate they’ll
make of me.”
“I’ll turn the lock for you,” says Jimmy, “wud a heart an’ a half;
but what am I to say to the sogers when they comes up an’ axes me if
you passed through these gates?”
“Tell ’em a lie, of coorse,” says King James.
“’Deed an’ I won’t, my good man,” says Jimmy.
“What!” says James the Second. “Not tell a lie to save a king!”
“No,” says Jimmy; “nor to save my own immortal sowl would I say a
word that wasn’t gospel thruth, on the face of it.”
“Thin what’s to be done?” says King James. “Couldn’t you tell ’em a
white lie if your conscience won’t stretch to a black wan?”
“Well,” says Jimmy, “I might tell a weeny wan on a pinch. I have it!”
says he, for the little man had as many twists an’ turns in him as
a corkscrew. “There’s a small private enthrance at the side of the
gate here, wud just room enough for a man to pass through, an’ if you
gets off your horse I’ll let you in by this private enthry, an’ then
I can go outside meself an’ lade the baste in by the big gate, an’,
of coorse, I can tell the Orangemen wud an aisy conscience that you
didn’t come through the main enthrance.”
“Begor,” says King James, “if I had a hundhred ginerals as full of
sthrategy as yerself ’tisn’t here I’d be this blessed an’ holy night.
What’s your name?” says he.
“Jimmy Murphy,” says the little man, puttin’ the kay to his mouth an’
blowin’ some crumbs of dirt out of it.
“I’ll not forget it,” says King James; an’ wud that he jumps off his
horse an ties the reins to wan of the bars.
Then Jimmy went to the little wicket an began to feel for the kayhole
in the darkness. “You’ll have to stoop here,” says he, “or you’ll
knock the crown off your head.”
“Begor,” says King James, “’tis wudout a crown I am. I rode away
in such a hurry that I clane forgot it, an’ I have no doubt the
Orangemen have made a futball of it by this an’ kicked it into the
Boyne water.”
“An’ is it from the Boyne you’re afther comin’?” axes Jimmy,
humourin’ the kay in the lock.
“’Tis,” says King James. “I’m afther ridin’ at a full gallop straight
from the battle of the Boyne.”
“An’ are you afther losing the battle?” axes Jimmy.
“I am, bad luck to it!” says King James.
“I’m sorry for your throuble,” says Jimmy, for although he wasn’t
over partial to James the Second, still he couldn’t help feelin’ for
him because of his belongin’ to the ould faith, an’ moreover bein’ a
namesake.
“Well you’d best come through, anyhow,” says he, openin’ the little
gate by main force, for the hinges wor mighty rusty.
“You ought to put a dhrop of sweet oil on them hinges,” says King
James, settin’ his teeth an’ entherin’ on the bridge. “They’re in
want of moisture,” says he, wud a laugh, “as much as my own throat,
an’ that’s rusty enough this minute. Have you a taste of anything
handy, Jimmy?”
“Well,” says the little man, “I think there’s a small dhrop of rum in
a bottle in the toll-house—if that’s to your likin’.”
“Anything is in saison now,” says the King, smackin’ his lips,
“though I’m partly a teetotaller.”
So Jimmy went into the toll-house and brought out a small black
bottle an’ handed it to King James.
“I’ll go out an’ lade in the horse,” says he, “while you’re clearin’
the cobwebs out of your throat,” an’ sayin’ the words he went out
to the horse, which was all covered wud foam an’ sweat, an’ he led
the poor baste in by the big enthrance-gate. Then he closed the gate
afther him, an’ King James walked over to the horse an’ handed Jimmy
back his bottle.
“Good-bye now, Jimmy,” says the King, mountin’ into the saddle, “an’
I’ll laive it to yerself how to put King Billy’s sogers off the
scent; an’ if ever I comes into my rights again I’ll make a mimber
of Parlyment of you.”
“I’ll do my best, you may depind,” says Jimmy.
“Good-bye, again,” says King James, “for the best of frinds must
part.”
“Stop a minute, my good man!” says Jimmy. “You’re forgettin’
something.”
“I know what you’re dhrivin’ at,” says King James, “but I haven’t got
any small change about me.”
“Is it a bribe you think I wants?” says Jimmy, nearly losin’ his
temper, for ’tis a proud little man in his way he was, though his
wages worn’t very handsome. “Do you think,” says he, catchin’ a grip
of the bridle, “that I’d soil my hands wud your dirty money except
what was due to me in a way of business?”
“An’ what is it you requires?” axes King James.
“The toll,” says Jimmy, as short as you plaize.
“Is this a toll-bridge?” says King James.
“You know well it is,” says Jimmy.
“An’ what would you say, my fine man,” says King James, “if I wor to
give your fist a smack of my swoord an’ gallop across the bridge?”
“I’d say you worn’t the first king that broke the law,” says Jimmy.
Begor, that answer staggered James the Second, an’ says he, “How much
is the toll?”
“Sixpence ha’penny to you,” says Jimmy, “an’ a good riddance at the
money.”
“How dar’ you spake like that, you bla’guard?” says the King, hotly.
“Oh don’t let us be argufyin’ or squabblin’,” says Jimmy, “or ’tis
down atop of you King Billy’ll be.”
Faix, James the Second cooled down all of a sudden at the mention of
King Billy, so he puts his hand in his throuser’s pocket and says he,—
“How do you make it sixpence ha’penny?—’tis a most onnathural charge!”
“Sixpence for the horse, an’ a ha’penny for the man,” says Jimmy.
“That’s the rate by special Act of Parlyment.”
“I thought ye passed man an’ horse for sixpence,” says King James.
“So we do,” says Jimmy, “if the rider sticks to his saddle.”
“Well, I suppose there’s no use in hagglin’ about it,” says King
James, “though I regard the ha’penny as extortion.”
“Divil a use of arguin’,” says Jimmy, “an’ I despises your slandhers.”
So the King hands over the sixpence ha’penny, copper by copper, as
if he wor partin’ wud his life’s blood, for ’tis very near in his
daylin’s he was.
“Maybe you’d like a resate for this,” says Jimmy, who was fairly
disgusted wud the way the King grumbled an’ growled over a few
ha’pence.
“You can send it afther me to France,” says James the Second, not
seein’ it was humbuggin’ him Jimmy was, an’ wud that he dug his spurs
into his horse an’ away he galloped over the bridge.
“Ah!” says Jimmy, lookin’ afther him as he rethrated, “’tis no
wondher they call you ‘dirty Shamus’! However,” says he, “I’ve passed
my word to put King Billy off the scent, an’ Jimmy Murphy never broke
a promise to man or mortial.”
An’ puttin’ King James’s coppers into his pocket, Jimmy went back
into the toll-house, an’ was soon fast asleep.
About four o’clock—broad daylight, of coorse—he was started out of a
dhrame of himself sittin’ in Parlyment wud a crown on his head, by a
tunderin’ rattle of horse hoofs; an’ goin’ out from the toll-house he
saw a great sighth of horse-sogers, all dhressed in yellow clothes,
pressin’ up to the gates.
“Open, quick!” cried a big man, wud a crown on the back of his poll,
givin’ the bars a backhanded wipe of his swoord.
“What’s your business, if you plaize?” says Jimmy. “We don’t open
here till six o’clock, unless on an emergency.”
“Do you know who I am?” says the big chap on the horse.
“I partly guess you’re King William the Orangeman,” says Jimmy.
“That’s a good guess,” says the horseman, “for that’s my name an’
occupation sure enough, an’ I give you my word it’s a rale case of
emergency that brings me here. Tell me,” says he, “did James the
Second pass through this gate this mornin’ or last night?”
“He did not,” says Jimmy.
“Maybe,” says King William, “he climbed over it.”
“No, nor undher it aither,” says Jimmy.
“Well, that puzzles me,” says King William, “for ’twas only at
Kilmacow beyant we lost the scent of him, an’ I made sure ’twas for
Watherford he was flyin’.”
“Perhaps,” says little Jimmy, “’tis to New Ross he went.”
“Perhaps,” says King William, “but I have my doubts of it. Are you
sure he didn’t pass through this gate?”
“Sartin,” says Jimmy.
“Well then,” says King William, “he must aither have gone on to New
Ross or swum across the river.”
“Wisha!” says Jimmy, fearin’ King James’s fat would be in the fire if
the Orangemen tuk it into their heads to hunt for him in Watherford.
“Wisha! how could an exhausted man swim three-quarthers of a mile in
the cowld of the airly mornin’?”
“Maybe,” says King William, “he made a raft an’ crossed on it.”
“A raft!” says Jimmy. “I suppose you think he’s a descindant of
Robinson Crusoe?”
“There’s no knowin’ what thricks he’d be up to,” says King Billy.
“Anyhow, I have my notions that ’tis in the city of Watherford we’ll
nab him; but to be on the safe side, I’ll divide my min.”
Begor, Jimmy feared it was all over with King James thin, an’ he was
sore vexed to think that all his sthrategy had gone for nothing so
far, an’ ’twas more aiger than ever he was now to put the sogers off
the thrack.
“Come here, Rawhead!” says King William to a big lump of an Orange
throoper. “Take a hundhred min wud you into the city, an’ I’ll go on
to New Ross wud the rest. Search every public-house for him,” says
he, “an’ every ship at the quay.”
Then King William blew a few blasts out of a silver-mounted bugle,
an’ the min divided themselves into two lots.
“Now thin,” says he to Jimmy Murphy, “throw open the gates, an’ let
Captain Rawhead an’ his throopers pass!”
“You must pay full toll, you know, before I puts a kay in the lock,”
says Jimmy, thinkin’ that the big sum of money might frighten the
Orangemen off.
“How much do you make it?” says King William.
“It’s sixpence a horse,” says Jimmy—“a heavy charge, but there’s a
special Act of Parlyment for it.”
“That’s two pound ten,” says King William. “Will you take my note of
hand for the amount?”
“I won’t,” says Jimmy, “for I’m not allowed to dale in anything but
coin of the realm.”
“You can charge it agen the Naational Debt,” says King William. “I’m
rather short of change at the moment.”
“That seems to be a general complaint,” says Jimmy.
“’Tis,” says King William. “Are you agreeable? I give you my word we
charges everything agen the Naational Debt.”
“I’m only a sarvint,” says Jimmy, “an’ my ordhers are to take nothing
but money, an’ good money too.”
“’Tis a rock of obstinacy you are,” says King William; “but I’ll thry
what I can do” says he, for he was a perseverin’ man at any rate, an’
had his mind fixed on gettin’ his follyers through the gates at any
sacrifice.
So he rode his horse about through the sogers, an’ between ’em all
they made up the two pound ten, an’ King William passed the money
through the bars of the gate into Jimmy’s fist.
Of coorse poor Jimmy hadn’t a word more to say then, so he tuk his
kays out of his pocket, an’ wud a sore heart he opened the gates for
Captain Rawhead an’ his hundhred min.
“At any rate,” says he to himself, “I’ve dodged King Billy about for
a long spell, an’ if poor James the Second has any gumption in him
he’ll be half-way down the river by the time the sogers gets into the
city.”
Well, when King William had galloped away on the road to New Ross an’
Captain Rawhead had started to cross the bridge, poor Jimmy went back
into the toll-house an’ fell fast asleep again. He was awoke this
time by a man shoutin’ into his ear,—
“Jimmy! Jimmy, _avic_! get up!”
Little Jimmy started off the stretcher he was dozin’ on, an’ rubbed
his eyes, an’ who did he see standin’ alongside him but an ould frind
of his, Mick Gorman by name, that kept the “Royal Oak” in the city of
Watherford!
“Good morra, Mick,” says Jimmy; “an’ what brings you here at this
time of day?”
“Begor, wan ’ud think ’twas a dormouse you wor,” says Mick, “for
’tis bawlin’ at you I’ve been for the past five minutes, an’ every
minute is worth its weight in goold now.”
“What time is it?” axes Jimmy, yawnin’.
“On the sthroke of five,” says Mick Gorman.
“Thin ’tis about an hour since the sogers went over the bridge. Did
you see any Orangemen in the city?”
“Indeed an’ I did,” says Mick; “an’ ’tis by raison of that I’ve made
such an airly visit to yerself.”
“Is that so?” says Jimmy.
“’Tis,” says Mick Gorman. “I must tell you,” says he, “how matthers
stand, an’ then we’ll howld a council of war.”
“All right,” says Jimmy, “fire ahead, an I’ll keep listenin’.”
“Well,” says Mick, “about two hour ago I was woke out of bed by a
double knock at the hall door, an’ puttin’ on my throwsers, I went
downstairs an’ opened the premises. ‘I wants refreshment for man
an’ baste,’ says a sthranger that was standin’ outside howldin’ a
horse by the bridle. ‘Are you a bony fidy?’ says I. ‘I am,’ says he.
‘I’ve thravelled hundhreds of miles since I went to bed last.’ ‘All
right,’ says I. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘I must ax you
a queshthion first.’ ‘What’s that,’ says I. ‘Are you an Orangeman?’
says he. ‘Is it jokin’ you are?’ says I. ‘No,’ says he, ‘I’m in fair
airnist.’ ‘Arrah! my good man,’ says I, ‘there was never wan of my
breed or generation that ’ud have inthercourse wud an Orangeman
except to take his money.’ ‘Very well,’ says the sthranger. ‘Thin
I’ll tell you my name, if you’ll promise to keep it to yerself.’
‘I’ll pass my word so far,’ says I. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘my name is King
James the Second.’
“Begor, Jimmy,” says Mick Gorman, “I was sthruck all of a heap when
I found ’twas the King of all England I was spaykin’ to, so says I,
‘If you’ll step into the parlour, Sir, I’ll attend to you meself as
soon as I’ve put up the royal horse.’ So King James came in, an’
as soon as I’d given the horse a mash of bran and a few dabs of a
wisp, I went into the parlour to the King. ‘I hope you’ll pardon me
for keepin’ your Majesty standin’ at the door,’ says I. ‘Hush!’ says
he. ‘Call me plain Misther Stuart, if you plaize, for no wan must
know who I am at all. An’ if you’ll cook me a rasher an’ some eggs
at wance I’ll feel obliged.’ So I makes off for the kitchen an’ got
the fire lit an’ the rasher an’ the eggs cooked in a quarther of an
hour, which is quick work I can tell you, Jimmy Murphy. Then I takes
the male in to King James, an’ as soon as he had swallyed the grub he
says: ‘Now I’m placin’ myself in your hands complately. I see you’re
an honest man,’ says he.”
“How did he see that?” says Jimmy, intherruptin’ Mick.
“I suppose most kings is judges of characther,” says Mick Gorman.
“I hope he’s not a judge of noses,” says Jimmy, wud a grin; “for
there’s ‘twenty per sint over proof’ marked on yours as plain as
print.”
“Do you mane to insult me?” says Mick, lookin’ as black as a
hearse-horse.
“Ah! it’s only my joke,” says Jimmy. “Sure there isn’t much to
choose, from a gauger’s point of view, between your nose an’ my own.”
“Begor, I believe not,” says Mick Gorman, rubbin’ a brand new grog
blossom on the left side of his nostril. “At any rate ’tis King
James’s own words I’m afther tellin’ you, an’ you can believe me or
not just as you like. ‘I see you’re an honest man,’ says the King of
all England to me; ‘an’ the likes of you is as scarce as blackberries
at this time of year. What I want you to do,’ says he, ‘is to get me
aboord of a ship that’s sailin’ for France immajertly, an’ not to let
a sowl know who I am. Can you do that?’ says he! ‘I think I can,’
says I, ‘for there’s a brother of mine the captain of a lugger, an’
he’ll be startin’ from the quay on the high wather.’ ‘When is that?’
says King James. ‘A thrifle before seven o’clock,’ says I. ‘That’ll
do,’ says he, ‘an’ if you manages the job for me, I’ll make a Mimber
of Parlyment of you when I comes into my rights again!’”
“Is that what he promised you?” says Jimmy.
“’Tis,” says Mick. “It’s his Majesty’s own words I’m tellin’ you.
What makes you ax the queshtion?”
“Just for information,” says Jimmy—“but go on wud your story, Mick
Gorman, M.P.”
“Well,” says Mick, “I tould King James I’d start for the quay at
wance an’ make things right wud my brother Pat. So I put on my hat
an’ I left the house. I walked up the quay a bit an’ what did I see
but a whole parcel of Orange throopers comin’ through the gates of
the bridge. They dhrew themselves up outside the gates, an’ I heard
a big man that was at the head of ’em shout out: ‘Now boys, you know
King William’s ordhers. Sarch every public-house for the vagabone
an’ every ship at the quays.’ My heart went down into my boots at
the words, for I knew who the ‘vagabone’ was. The big horse soger
then shouts out again: ‘Now there are a hundhred of you here. Let
fifty of you take the ships an’ fifty more the public-houses, an’
to save time, divide yourselves wance more into fives, for that’ll
hasten matthers a dale. An’ to the fifty of ye that’s goin’ to sarch
the ships, this is my ordhers: If ye don’t find him aboord any wan
of ’em, line the ditches from top to bottom, an’ see that he doesn’t
pass ye laither on!’”
“Line the ditches!” says Jimmy. “What did he mane by that?”
“I suppose he meant to line the quays,” says Mick Gorman; “but being
an ignorant man that wasn’t brought up in a sayfarin’ place he
thought a quay was a ditch.”
“Like enough,” says Jimmy. “What did you do then?”
“Begor,” says Mick, “I was nonplushed for a short spell, but I
thought I’d best go aboord my brother’s lugger an’ arrange matthers
there in case we could hit on a plan for smugglin’ King James aboord.
So I walks aboord by the plank to my brother’s ship and roused him
out of his bunk, and settled it all wud him about Misther Stuart in
case we could pilot the cargo in safety through the town, an’ then I
wint back to the ‘Royal Oak’ and towld everything to his Majesty.”
“Poor man, he was mighty sorrowful to hear the news I had for him
about the Orangemen. ‘What’ll I do at all at all?’ he axes me. ‘I
thought I could depind my life on Jimmy Murphy.’ ‘Jimmy Murphy!’ says
I—a dacenter man never broke bread.” ‘So I thought meself,’ says King
James, an’ with that he towld me all about you, an’ of coorse I blew
a horn for you. ‘Poor Jimmy,’ says I, ‘never went back of his word,
I’ll go bail; an’ ’tis the clever little man he is too.’ ‘What’ll we
do at all at all?’ says King James, wringin’ his hands. ‘Can’t you
think of any plan to get me safe aboord your brother’s boat?’ ‘Worse
luck,’ says I, ‘’tis a poor hand I am on an emergency like this. I’m
fairly bet.’ ‘How long do you think ’twill be,’ says King James,
‘before the sogers will make their way here?’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘there
are at laiste thirty public-houses between this an’ the bridge, an’
’tis like enough they’ll have a dhrop in aich house. It’s now about
half-past four,’ says I. ‘I think we might safely calculate on them
not gettin’ this far until about half-past six.’ ‘That’ll be just
on the high wather,’ says King James. ‘I think the tide’ll run till
seven,’ says I, ‘for my brother promised he wouldn’t take the stage
off until the town clock sthruck seven.’ ‘I’ll tell you what you’ll
do,’ says King James. ‘Run over as quick as you can to the other side
of the bridge an’ send Jimmy Murphy here, for I have great confidence
in the little man, an’ wud the help of goodness he’ll hit upon some
plan to smuggle me through the sogers on the quay.’ ‘You’re right,’
says I to the King. ‘Jimmy is the man.’
“So that’s why you see me here now,” says Mick Gorman, fairly out of
breath.
“Faix,” says Jimmy, “you’ve lost a dale of time as it is wud your
rigmarole story; but no matther! I have a plan in my head already.”
“What is it?” axes Mick Gorman.
“That’s my business,” says Jimmy. “Now,” says he, “let you take
charge of the bridge an’ open the big gate at six o’clock to the
minute, an’ I’ll put my best fut forward for the ‘Royal Oak.’ Tell
me, Mick,” says he, “does the big whisky puncheon stand in the middle
of the shop still?”
“It does,” says Mick Gorman.
“How is it inside?” says Jimmy.
“There’s only about three gallon left in it.”
“_Only_ three gallon!” says Jimmy, smackin’ his lips. “But that’s not
I meant at all. I want to know what sort of a thing the inside of
this whisky puncheon is.”
“It’s made to howld a hundhred and twenty gallon inside, of coorse,”
says Mick Gorman.
“A hundhred and twenty gallon of whisky!” says Jimmy, liftin’ his
hands an’ lookin’ spacheless. “Glory be to goodness! Why ’twould keep
a man in the horrors for a year at laiste.”
“That depends!” says Mick Gorman, laughin’ hearty. “But between
yerself an’ meself, Jimmy,” says he, “’tisn’t all whisky, of coorse,
we gives ’em, or ’twould play the mischief wud their livers.”
“I know,” says Jimmy. “Eighty gallon of sperits an’ forty gallon of
boilin’ wather an’ sugar-o’-candy makes the best public-house whisky,
I’m tould.”
“Begor, wan ’ud think you wor in the public line all your life,” says
Mick. “Who towld you we boiled the wather?”
“Sure it’s only naatural you would,” says Jimmy, “in ordher to melt
the sugar-o’-candy. But you don’t seem to undherstand in the laiste
what I mane about the big puncheon of yours. What I want to know is
if there are any nails stickin’ out the ribs of it inside?”
“Nails stickin’ out!” says Mick. “’Tis aisy known now you worn’t
born in the public business. Do you think ’tis like an empty sugar
hogshead it is?”
“I didn’t think anything,” says Jimmy, a thrifle vexed. “I only axed
for information.”
“Well,” says Mick Gorman, “the inside of it is as smooth as the
barrel of a gun, if that’s what you’re dhrivin’ at.”