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Drop into the D.B.C. probably for his coffee, play chess there. His brother used men as pawns. Let them all go to pot. Afraid to pass a remark on him. Freeze them up with that eye of his. That's the fascination: the name. All a bit touched. Mad Fanny and his other sister Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness. Bolt upright lik surgeon M'Ardle. Still David Sheehy beat him for south Meath.
The first play we began was Hot-loof; and maybe there wasn't skelping then. It was the two parishes of Errigle-Keeran and Errigle-Truagh against one another. There was the Slip from Althadhawan, for Errigle-Truagh, against Pat M'Ardle, that had married Lanty Gorman's daughter of Cargach, for Errigle-Keeran. The way they play it, Mr.
No matter; one man they all gave way to, and that was Pat M'Ardle. "'Hould away, says Pat, 'clear off, boys, all of you this stroke's mine by right, any how; and, says he, swearing a terrible oath, 'if you don't sup sorrow for that stroke, says he to the Slip, 'why Pat M'Ardle's not behind you here.
Bless my soul, but it was terrible to hear the strokes that the Slip and Pat M'Ardle did give that night. M'Ardle was a low, broad man, with a rucket head and bull neck, and a pair of shoulders that you could hardly get your arms about, Mr. Morrow, long as they are; it's he, indeed, that was the firm, well built chap, entirely.
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