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"'You'll blow me head off, I sez, throwin' my arm clear; 'go through under my arm-pit, ye bloodthirsty little scutt, sez I, 'but don't shtick me or I'll wring your ears round. "Fwhat was ut ye gave the Paythan man for-ninst me, him that cut at me whin I cudn't move hand or foot? Hot or cowld was ut?" "Cold," said Ortheris, "up an' under the rib-jint. 'E come down flat. Best for you 'e did."
Allow me to till ye too, Monsieur Boisson, that if ye dare to hint at sich a thing ag'in whilst I'm in command of this ship, the ounly satisfaction ye'll ivver have out of me in the rap-here way will be a rap on the h'id wid this shtick of moine here, you recollict, joist to thry the stringth of y'r craynium, begorrah!
She's jist as much of a leddy as there is in Sivenoaks, bedad, an' I have to put on me big airs, an' thrash around wid me two hands in me breeches pockets, an' shtick out me lips like a lorrd, an' promise to raise the divil wid her whiniver she gits a fit o' high flyin', an' ye'll have to do the same, Jim, or jist lay down an' let 'er shtep on ye. Git a good shtart, Jim.
Do you mind that shtick big enough to sarve as a respictable shillalah at Donnybrook Fair? Well, my laddy, that has done duty as a lantern in this very place." "As a torch, you mean?" "Precisely; just heft it." As he tossed it into Fred's hand, the latter was astonished to note its weight. "What's the cause of that?" he inquired. "It's a piece of pine, and its chuck full of pitch.
"You'll blow me head off," I sez, throwin' my arm clear; "go through under my arm-pit, ye bloodthirsty little scutt," sez I, "but don't shtick me or I'll wring your ears round." 'Fwhat was ut ye gave the Paythan man forninst me, him that cut at me whin I cudn't move hand or foot? Hot or cowld was ut? 'Cold, said Ortheris, 'up an' under the rib-jint. 'E come down flat. Best for you 'e did.
"Faith you've larnt the half av your lesson, Sorr," sez I, "but av you shtick to the Rig'lations you'll niver get thim in-ship at all, at all. Or there won't be a rag av kit betune thim whin you do." ''Twas a dear little orf'cer bhoy, an' by way av kapin' his heart up, I tould him fwhat I saw wanst in a draf' in Egypt. 'What was that, Mulvaney? said I.
'O'Hara was a Divil. Though I saved him, for the honour av the rig'mint, from his death that time, I say it now. He was a Divil a long, bould, black-haired Divil. 'Which way? asked Ortheris. 'Women. 'Thin I know another. 'Not more than in reason, if you mane me, ye warped walkin '-shtick. I have been young, an' for why should I not have tuk what I cud?
"Well, you can say, maybe, an' maybe you can't But Oi can't. Take your old goon. Oi'll none avit. "May the divil fly away wid it, an' wid you, too. Oi'd rather have a good shtick. Wid a shtick in me fist Oi'll take care of ony spalpeen fwhat'll stand up in front av me. But wid a fool goon loike that Oi'd be kilt at wance."
'Yez contimplated playin' the divil wid a big shtick among the weemin an' the childther. Tom Moran, ye thunderin' great ilephant av a man, d'ye think ye cud fight a sick hen on a fince? Moran replied with uproarious profanity and frantic pantomime, and the abuse became general and vociferous.
It is curious that the wand of the enchanter during the Golden Age of "Ould Ireland" should prove to have been the all-persuasive, all-powerful "shtick." GORTATLEA, CO. KERRY, Monday, Dec. 6th. Having heard agrarian outrages reported one day and denied or explained away the next, I thought it worth while to ascertain the exact truth concerning the case of Laurence Griffin, of Kilfalliny, co.
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