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"Musha, Peter, but it's well y'r looking," cried one. "Ah, thin, maybe ye an't fat on the ribs," cried another. "An' cockin' his tail like a coult," said a third. I am very certain, if I might venture to judge from the faces about, that, had the favourite for the St. Leger, passed through Kilkee at that moment, comparisons very little to his favor had been drawn from the assemblage around me.
The mare was rubbing her dripping face and neck against the farmer's shoulder, with hoarse whispering snorts of recognition and pleasure. He held his lantern high to look at her. "Musha, why wouldn't she know me!" he roared, "sure it's yer own mare, Miss Fanny! 'Tis the Connemara mare I thrained for ye!
If you had, my boy might be livin' this day, for it would be asy for him to be an his guard." "Musha, poor woman," replied Darby, "sure you don't know, you afflicted crathur, what you're spakin' about. Tell my dhrame! Why, thin, it's myself towld it to him from beginning to ind, and that whin we wor goin' to mass this day itself.
This way of accounting for his guest's fine language rather affronted Felix, and he consequently said, "Musha now, was there not? And how long might yourself be under that descripshin of fever?" "Ah sure, what 'ud we do at all if poor Barney was took that way?" said Peter Keogh, "and nobody able to tell was it ravin' he was, or settin' up to be talkin' raisonable for any differ they could see."
Then in an undertone he added, "`Look sharp, is it ye say? It's blunt ye are to spake that way to yer betters. Musha! but it's mysilf wouldn't give a tinpinny for all that bag houlds, twinty times doubled; an' yit thim haythens, thim pork-faced Huskimos, 'll dance round this here pole wi' delight till they're fit to dhrop.
Musha! but 'tis enough to vex a saint." "Ah, Jenny!" blubbered the poor boy, "but you have no mercy. You forget that I have but one eye, and that I could not see the root which caught my foot and threw me down."
"Musha where were you, thin, if it's fair to ax?" inquired Peety; "for as for me that hears everything almost, the never a word I heard o' this." "I was in Dublin, thin, all the way," replied the farmer, "strivin' to get a renewal o' my laise from ould Squire Chevydale, the landlord; an' upon my snuggins, Peety, you may call a journey to Dublin an' home agin a tough one devil a doubt of it.
"Musha, good luck to you," shouted a woman's voice. "That," said Meldon, "is almost certainly Sabina Gallagher. She's naturally greatly interested on account of her cousin." "Interested in what?" gasped Simpkins. "Your marriage," said Meldon. "I mentioned it to Doyle this morning, and he has evidently told every one about the place." Simpkins stopped abruptly and got off his bicycle.
"What do you expect from a German, sir?" Murphy demanded. "Frightfulness is his middle name." "I mean you two and your language. Stop it! You'll contaminate me." "Well, sor," Terence Reardon replied philosophically, "I suppose there's small use cryin' over spilt milk musha, what are they up to now?" "They're dragging a collapsible boat up from below," Mike Murphy declared.
I looked about me, an' seen ever so many priests dressed all like the Protestant clargy; our Dinis was at the head of them, wid a three-cocked hat, an' a wig upon him; he was cuttin' up beef an' mutton at the rate of a weddin', an' dhrinkin' wine in metherfuls." "'Musha, Dinis, says myself, 'what's all this for? "'Why, says he, 'it's all for the good of the church an' the faithful.
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