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Gratitude for his escape from the addresses of Miss McEvoy had apparently blinded him to the difficulties of the future. "There's Coolahan's pub. We'll get something to eat there you'll see it'll be all right." "But," I said, picking my way after him among the rusty tins and the broken crockery, "the Coolahans will think we're mad! We've no hats, and we can't tell them about the Dohertys."
'We'll be in a scrape about all this, if we don't make him in the wrong. His audience fully appreciated the counsel, and while a few were busied in carrying old Gill to the house for a broken leg made him unable to reach it alone the others placed O'Shea on some straw in a cart, and set out with him to Kilbeggan. 'It is not a trespass at all, said McEvoy.
"Sure, what's the good of your going there?" shouted McEvoy, "the roof is off of it yet, an' not a soul about. Come on home wid ye, can't ye?" "No, thank ye," said Mike, without turning his head. The car drove on, and soon Mike stood within his dismantled home. There had been some delay in procuring wood for the new rafters and the poor roofless, smoked-begrimed walls looked very forlorn.
McEvoy, called the "torpedo detecter," in which the action is somewhat similar to that of the induction balance, the iron of a torpedo case having the effect of increasing the number of lines of force embraced by one of two opposing coils, so that the current induced in it overpowers that induced in the other, and a distinct sound is heard in a telephone receiver in circuit with them.
Garstin, who was as mischievous as a monkey, and who loved to play cat and mouse with a woman, continued to gaze at her with his assumption of fierce attention. "But Leighton being unfortunately dead, we can't go to him for your portrait," he continued gravely. "I think we shall have to hand you over to McEvoy. Smith!" he suddenly roared.
Doherty were the very apex and flower of the latter, and in the party now installed in Aunt Dora's drawing-room I unhesitatingly recognised them, and Mrs. Doherty's sister, Miss McEvoy. Miss McEvoy was an elderly lady of the class usually described as being "not all there". The expression, I imagine, implies a regret that there should not be more.
His grandmother's attitude toward Joe McEvoy constrained her to receive him effusively as prey snatched from the foaming jaws of death; but it was out of Mrs. Fottrel's pocket that a peppermint-drop came to sweetly seal his new lease of life.
A violent jerk nearly pitched me off the car, as Croppy dragged the white horse into the opposite bank; the umbrella flew from my hand and revealed to me the Dean's bearded coachman sitting on the road scarcely a yard from my feet, uttering large and drunken shouts, while the covered car hurried back towards the village with the unforgettable yell of Miss McEvoy bursting from its curtained rear.
It was whispered that Jack McEvoy had seen Mike on the evening before, standing in the corner of the haggard lookin' about him "rale distracted, ye'd say." "What are ye doin' there at all, this time o' night?" said Jack. "Och, nothin' much," says Mike, "just streelin' about."
"Well, what is it, Dick, what is it?" said the sculptor in a thin voice, with high notes which came surprisingly though the thicket of tangled hair about the cavern of his mouth. "Who shall paint Beryl as Ceres?" "I refuse to be pained by anyone as Ceres!" said Miss Van Tuyn, almost viciously. "It ought to have been Leighton. But he's been translated. I suggested McEvoy." "Oh, Lord!
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