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"Say, that sure was a hell of a trick of his using Windy's horse while the two of them were scrapping trying to frame it up on him!" "Eyah," soliliquised the sergeant sagely. "'Twill all come out in th' wash. Whin cliver, edjucated knockabouts like Gully du go bad; begob, they make th' very wurrst kind av criminals.
Shamrock, touched in his most vulnerable point, shrieks above the rattle of the wheels: "The wurrst statesman that iver put his name to paper was William Ewart Gladstone!" Mr. Rose. "The best, I say!" Mr. Shamrock. "I say the wurrst!" Mr. Rose. "The best!!" Mr. Shamrock. "The wurrst!!" Mr. "It's your absentee landlords that have done the mischief. I'd hang every one of them, if I had my way." Mr.
Ye cannot always tell how 'tis catched, and whin ye cannot tell, moy graciouz! ye have got the wurrst koind!" The two sick men recovered very nearly at the same time.
"Thet's the wurrst rat in the stables," said McGaw, his face reddening with anger. "What kin ye do whin ye're a-buckin' ag'in' a lot uv divils loike him?" speaking through the window to Babcock. "Come out uv thet," he called to Cully, "or I'll bu'st yer jaw, ye sneakin' rat!" Cully came out, but not in obedience to McGaw or Lathers.
"The Tyrone was recruited any fashion in the ould days. A draf from Connemara a draf from Portsmouth a draf from Kerry, an' that was a blazin' bad draf here, there and iverywhere but the large av thim was Oirish Black Oirish. Now there are Oirish an' Oirish. The good are good as the best, but the bad are wurrst than the wurrst. 'Tis this way.
'The Tyrone was recruited any fashion in the ould days. A draf from Connemara a draf' from Portsmouth a draf' from Kerry, an' that was a blazin' bad draf' here, there and iverywhere but the large av thim was Oirish Black Oirish. Now there are Oirish an' Oirish. The good are good as the best, but the bad are wurrst than the wurrst. 'Tis this way.
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