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Updated: June 4, 2025
The sergeant winked ponderously. "It might be," he said, "about the hay you're just after buying." "If he wants it," said Gallaher, "he can have it, and I'll deliver it to him at his own home at half the price I paid for it." The District Inspector, smiling and tapping his gaiters with a riding switch, explained in a few words that he did not want the hay and did not intend to pay for it.
Interest developed into actual excitement when the price rose to ten pounds. A half ton of hay never is and never has been worth ten pounds. But ten pounds was by no means the final bid. "Mr. McNiece," said Mr. Robinson, "the bid is against you." "Guineas," said McNiece. "Eleven," said Dan Gallaher. "Guineas," said McNiece.
He would speak to Gallaher about it. He pursued his revery so ardently that he passed his street and had to turn back. As he came near Corless's his former agitation began to overmaster him and he halted before the door in indecision. Finally he opened the door and entered. The light and noise of the bar held him at the doorways for a few moments.
Ignatius Gallaher we all know and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the farthing press, and his American cousin of the Bowery guttersheet not to mention Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences and our watchful friend The Skibbereen Eagle. Why bring in a master of forensic eloquence like Whiteside? Sufficient for the day is the newspaper thereof.
Now Nancy Gallaher saw this, and having drawn the established conclusion that there must in some way be a lover in the case, she sat down in form before the fortress of Alley Mahon's secret, with a firm determination to make herself mistress of it, if the feat were at all practicable.
And were they good boys at school? O. That was very good now. And what was his name? Jack Sohan. And his name? Ger. Gallaher. And the other little man? His name was Brunny Lynam. O, that was a very nice name to have. Father Conmee gave a letter from his breast to Master Brunny Lynam and pointed to the red pillarbox at the corner of Fitzgibbon street.
They seemed to him a band of tramps, huddled together along the riverbanks, their old coats covered with dust and soot, stupefied by the panorama of sunset and waiting for the first chill of night bid them arise, shake themselves and begone. He wondered whether he could write a poem to express his idea. Perhaps Gallaher might be able to get it into some London paper for him.
She'll have a good fat account at the bank or she won't do for me." Little Chandler shook his head. "Why, man alive," said Ignatius Gallaher, vehemently, "do you know what it is? I've only to say the word and tomorrow I can have the woman and the cash. You don't believe it? Well, I know it.
"Nancy," said the latter, "take this young woman with you, and make her comfortable. You seem exhausted. Miss Gourlay; shall I get some tea?" "Thank you, Mrs. Nor Mainwaring, no; we have had a hasty cup of tea in Dublin. But if it will not be troublesome, I should like to go to bed for a time." Mrs. Mainwaring flew out of the room, and called Nancy Gallaher.
"Thanks awfully, old chap," said Ignatius Gallaher, "I'm sorry we didn't meet earlier. But I must leave tomorrow night." "Tonight, perhaps...?" "I'm awfully sorry, old man. You see I'm over here with another fellow, clever young chap he is too, and we arranged to go to a little card-party. Only for that..." "O, in that case..." "But who knows?" said Ignatius Gallaher considerately.
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