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Lecky perhaps the greatest political agitator that the modern world has known, was born August 6, 1775, in the county of Kerry, in Ireland. His parents were of good family, but comparatively poor, his father being a second son. Later on, Daniel was adopted by an uncle, through whom he came in for the property of Darrynane, made famous by his name.
She has the prettiest pair of feet in the County Kerry, and when they are encased in a smart pair of shoes, bought for her by Art's rival, the big constable from Ballyfuchsia barracks, how they do twinkle and caper over that half barn door, to be sure!
The fellow, we should have stated to the reader, was originally from Kerry, though he adopted Connaught, and consequently had a tolerable acquaintance with Latin and Greek an acquisition which often stood him in stead through life; joined to which was an assurance that nothing short of a scrutiny such as Morty O'Maherty's could conquer.
Another Kerry story, not unlike one narrated earlier in this chapter, runs thiswise: Two men came to order a coffin for a mutual friend called Tim O'Shaughnessy. Said the undertaker: 'I am sorry to hear poor Tim is gone. He had a famous way with him of drinking whisky. What did he die of? Replied one of the men:
But Big Jan's evil eyes caught sight of him. He knew the Butterfly Man's dog very well. He snickered. A huge foot shot out, there was a howl of anguish and astonishment, and Kerry went flying through the air as if shot from a catapult. "So!" Jan grunted like a satisfied hog, "I feex you like that in one meenute, me." The red jumped from John Flint's cheeks to his eyes, and stayed there.
Kerry stood watching the dog for a moment, and as he watched he became conscious of an exhilarated pulse. He tried the door and found it to be open. Thereupon he entered a dirty little shop, which he remembered to have searched in person in the grey dawn of the day which now was entering upon a premature dusk.
I was hanging about there, thinking I might get some information. I think she was doped." "Why?" snapped Kerry. "Well, I was standing over on the other side of the street. Lou Chada opened the door with a key; and when the light shone out I saw him carry her in." "Carry her in?" "Yes. She was in evening dress, with a swell cloak." "The car?"
We kin take nuthin' out'n this world, no matter what kind o' a line o' goods we kerry in life. Heaven's no place fur tradin', I understan', an' I do wonder sometimes how in the worl' them merchants an' sech in the valley towns air goin' ter entertain tharse'fs in the happy land o' Canaan. It's goin' ter be sorter bleak fur them, sure's ye air born."
Perhaps the tale was the more impressive because of Crozier's deep baritone voice, capable, as it was, of much modulation, yet, except when he was excited, having a slight monotone like the note of a violin with the mute upon the strings. This was his tale: "Well, to begin with, I was born at Castlegarry, in Kerry you know the main facts from what I said in court. As a boy I wasn't so bad a sort.
He glanced up from the page. Margaret Halley's eyes were dim. "She despaired of my coming and went to Kazmah," she said. "Can you doubt that that was what she went for?" "No!" snapped Kerry savagely, "I can't. But do you mean to tell me, Miss Halley, that Mrs. Irvin couldn't get cocaine anywhere else? I know for a fact that it's smuggled in regularly, and there's more than one receiver."
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