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As certain as I'm here, she was poisoning me, to get to th' other chap I'm certain of it. 'And what did you do? 'I cleared out went to Sydney 'And left her? 'Yes, I thought begod, I'd better clear out if I wanted to live. 'And you were all right in Sydney? 'Better in no time I know she was putting poison in my coffee. 'Hm! There was a glum silence.
The driver had been drinking and in his drunkenness he had thrashed the poor beast. ... "But he'll never thrash another horse, the same lad," said the man who told them of the circumstances. "He was pitched out on his head, an' he wasn't worth picking up when they lifted him. Killed dead, an' him as drunk as a fiddler! Begod, I wouldn't like to die that way!
Begod, John Marsh, if you were a father you wouldn't ask such a damn silly question. Here, have a cigar! Henry's comin' back!" When Henry entered the room, his father was lying back in his chair, puffing smoke into the air, while John Marsh was cutting the end of his cigar. "The post's come in," he said. "Anything for me?" his father asked. "No. There was only one letter. For me.
"I know that. What does it mean?" "Begod, I don't know...." Henry read the Proclamation through, and then re-read the finely-phrased end of it! We place the Irish Republic under the protection of the Most High God, Whose Blessing we invoke on our arms, and we pray that no one who serves that cause will dishonour it.
"Windy Moran, begod!" he burst out, "mind fwhat he said that day 'bout Gully an' that dep'ty sheriff bizness? . . . not so 'Windy' afther all, I'm thinkin', eh?" For some few seconds they stared at him, aghast. They had forgotten Moran. "Say, Burke, though?" ejaculated Yorke incredulously.
"You're a bunch of white livered cowards all of you." I saw Dan double up his fists and start towards the man. The latter checked him with a command. "Go back down there or you're fired," he said to him. Dan turned red. Then I saw his jaws come together. "Begod!" he answered. "You shan't fire me, anyhow." Without another word he started down the ladder again.
Usually though, when the storm of bad language and boots had subsided, his dupes, too, like those of "Silver Street" were wont to scratch their heads and commune one with another: begod, I wonder why? He was a heavy-shouldered man; middle-aged, with thick, crisp iron-gray hair and moustache and a pair of humourous brown eyes twinkling in a lined, weather-beaten face.
"Begod, it's in earnest they are!..." "But what can they do? They can't hold out against the British Army...." "They might do a lot, now! They're mad, the whole of them! What in hell do they want to start a rebellion for?..." Henry moved away. He went from group to group, listening to one for a while, and then moving on to another. There were many rumours already flying through the crowd.
I try to make myself not feel afraid, but I just can't. If I could only not think about it!..." "Aye, that's it, Henry. You think too much. Do you mind that bit in Shakespeare about people that think bein' dangerous. Begod, that's true!
The girl's a decent girl, a well-meant girl ... a well-meant girl!... I wish to God, you were at Trinity, my son! Come on, now, an' have somethin' to ate. Begod, I'm hungry. I could ate a horse. I could ate two horses!..." He put his arm in Henry's and they left the library together. "You'll get over it, my son, you'll get over it. It does a lad good to break his heart now an' again.
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