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Updated: June 11, 2025
I thought I'd rather be Gallagher than Red Red had to serve time once in a while. Soon as he got out I went down to Gallagher's saloon, and there was Red leaning over the bar. 'Here's a smart kid! he says, 'He and me were room-mates over in Hickory Street. He got to gassing me, and telling me I'd better come along with him, when Gallagher came in. 'What is it ye'd like to be, my son? says he.
I thought I'd rather be Gallagher than Red Red had to serve time once in a while. Soon as he got out I went down to Gallagher's saloon, and there was Red leaning over the bar. 'Here's a smart kid! he says, 'He and me were room-mates over in Hickory Street. He got to gassing me, and telling me I'd better come along with him, when Gallagher came in. 'What is it ye'd like to be, my son? says he.
A Saratoga cocktail is a drink " "Is it whisky I'll bring you now?" said Mary Ellen. She was a girl of sense and wisdom. She was no more inclined to listen to Mr. Billing's panegyric of the Saratoga cocktail than to Thady Gallagher's patriotic denunciation of the flunkeys of the rent office. Without waiting for an answer she went away and brought Mr.
Gallagher, who had piloted the "Erin's Hope" around the west coast of Ireland, swore to his identity as one of the party who were on board; but the prisoner contended that Gallagher's knowledge of him was acquired, not on board that vessel, but in Kilmainham gaol, where Gallagher had been his fellow-prisoner for some weeks, during which time he had abundant opportunities of learning his, Colonel Warren's, name, and the charge against him.
Gallagher's mate from behind shouted out a warning just a second too late. With a sudden kick, Quest sent the revolver flying across the room, and before the Irishman could recover, he struck him full in the face. Notwithstanding his huge size and strength, Gallagher reeled. The operator, who had just begun to realize what was happening, flung himself bodily against the two thugs.
"Gallagher's lad picked him up an' sthud him on his feet; an' says he, politely, 'Come on, he says, 'go roun' with me. Mind ye, he took him out to th' middle iv th' pond, Hinnissy movin' like a bridge horse on a slippery thrack; an' th' lad shook him off, an' skated away. 'Come back! says Hinnissy. 'Come back! he says. 'Tom, I'll flay ye alive whin I catch ye on th' sthreet!
For the readers of Gallagher's leading articles and columns of news were still in that primitive stage of culture in which every statement made in print is accepted as certainly true, whereas the subscribers to The Times have been educated into an unworthy kind of scepticism.
Doyle's life is a burden to him. O'Donoghue can't sleep at night for fear of a Local Government Board enquiry. The police are harried in the discharge of their duties. The rector's bronchitis is intensified to a dangerous extent. Sabina Gallagher's red-haired cousin, whose name I've not yet been able to discover, is perfectly miserable.
While they were tying the rope around Jack Gallagher's neck his hands already having been tied behind him a perfect stream of oaths was pouring from his lips, and about the last words he uttered were: "I hope to meet you all in the bottomest pits of hell." These words were uttered not more than a minute before the box was kicked from under him.
He saw that Gallagher's presence was highly inconvenient. "A bottle of porter, Thady," he said, "or maybe two, would do you good." Gallagher made a strong effort to swallow, intending when he had done so to speak again. But the description Doyle gave of the inside of his throat and the thought of cool draughts of porter, had actually induced a very real dryness of his mouth.
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