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The Judge, looking grave, and casting his eye learnedly over the pages of a ponderous statute book, inquires of Mr. Seargent Stubbs what the charge is. "Disturbed the hole neighborhood. A fight atween the Donahues, yer Honor." "Dorn't believe a woord of it, yeer Onher. Sure, din't Donahue black the eye o' me, and sphil the whisky too? Bad luck to Donahue, says I. You don't say that to me, says he.
"She looks like Fan only more so; and she has a litter o' young Donahues would make ye wonder could the world have room for them all."
Where's the Irishman gone up or down? That's what's eatin' me. Is he dead or translated to a higher speer? 'Tis a mysterious dispensation, and troubles me much." He found a good many Donahues in Brooklyn, and plenty of them barkeepers; and after he'd pulled up half a dozen times at these "joints" Bertha began to pout.
The Captain is alone a good deal, and you'd be a comfort to him." "I'll consider," the old man said. "I must have time to rea-lize it," he quaintly added. "I must smoke me pipe in me own garret once more, and talk it all over with Kate and the Donahues." He was no sooner gone from the room than Bertha turned to her husband, and said: "Mart, I want to talk things over with you."
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