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Updated: May 16, 2025
But the crowd were bound to have him. "We want him, Docthor," said a young giant in a tam-o'-shanter. "In fac', Docthor," he argued with a humourous smile, "we maun hae him." "Ye'll no' get him, Jock Murchison," shouted young Rob, standing in front of his big brother. "We want him wi' us." The crowd laughed gleefully. "Go for him, Jock! You can easy lick him," said a voice encouragingly.
Thank yer Reverence; thank you, docthor." "On Friday, in Barny O'Darby's, alias Barny Butters. Are you there, Barny?" "All that's left of me is here, sir." "Well, Barny, how is the butter trade this season?" "It's a little on the rise, now, sir: in a, month or so I'm expecting it will be brisk enough. Boney, sir, is doing that much for us anyway."
Didn't I tell the foreman the man wuz dyin'? An' niver a breath did I draw fer the last twinty miles, an' up an' down the hills like the divil wuz afther me wid a poker." "Have you no doctor up there?" "Docthor, is it? If that's what ye call him, fer the drunken baste that he is, wallowin' 'round like Micky Murphy's pig, axin' pardon av the pig." "Are there any more sick?" "Sick?
An' wud ye be afther puttin' a preacher in the same car wid a docthor, an' him the Medical Superintendent av the railway?" "I hain't talkin' 'bout preachers an' doctors in general," replied Ben, keeping himself firmly in hand, "but I'm talkin' about this 'ere preacher, the Reverend Richard Boyle." Ben's attention to the finer courtesies in conversation always increased with his wrath.
"'I'll take long an' long to die yet, he sez, 'for the ways av sin they're like interest in the rig'mintal savin's-bank sure, but a damned long time bein' paid. "The docthor sez to me quiet one day, 'Has Tighe there anythin' on his mind? he sez. 'He's burnin' himself out. "'How shud I know, Sorr? I sez, as innocent as putty. "They call him Love-o'-Women in the Tyrone, do they not? he sez.
The trio craned forward and made minute examination. Slavin ejaculated an oath and glanced up at Yorke almost remorsefully. "I take ut all back," he said. Meeting the coroner's blank, enquiring stare he added: "Booze, Docthor we thought ut might be. . . . Yeh know Larry!" The physician of Cow Run nodded understandingly. Slavin bent again and made close scrutiny of the bullet-hole.
Docthor, if it wouldn't be makin' too free, maybe you'd oblage me wid repatin' it over again?" "I can never have any hesitation," replied the priest, "in repeating anything to his advantage I stated, Darby, that young Misther O'Shaughnessy was a youth of whom my opinion was decidedly peculiar keep basting; child, you're forgetting the goose now; did you never see a priest's boots before?"
'I was a fool to ask. Be wid him all you can. He's houldin' on to your strength. "'They call ut Locomotus attacks us, he sez, 'bekaze, sez he, 'ut attacks us like a locomotive, if ye know fwhat that manes. An' ut comes, sez he, lookin' at me, 'ut comes from bein' called Love-o'-Women. "'You're jokin', docthor, I sez. "'Jokin'! sez he.
"Why, thin, if your Reverence ped ready money for him, I maintain he was as well worth twenty guineas as a thief's worth the gallows; an' you know, sir, I'd be long sorry to differ wid you. Am I near it now, Docthor?" "Denis got for the horse more than that," said his Reverence, "and he may speak for himself."
Don't give way to sich grief till we hear what the docthor will say, at all events. How did she complain or get ill; for I think she wasn't worse when I left home?" "It's all in her stomach," replied his father. "She was seized wid cramps in her stomach, an' she complains very much of her head; but her whole strength is gone, she can hardly spake, and she has death in her face."
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