Part 17 (1/2)

if the charm 'ud work right. But Dooley didn't let a word out av his jaw, as knowin' he'd nade all his breath afther gettin' into the coort.

”At the rise o' the hill the pursesshun was met be about a hunderd o' the town boys that come out fur to view thim, an' that yelled at Dooley how the widdys were waitin' to tare him in paces, an' that he was as good as a dead man a'ready, so he was; an' whin they got into town, all the men jined the show, roarin' wid laughter an' shoutin' at Dooley that the judge cudn't do anny more than hang him at wanst, an' to shtand it like a hayro, bekase they'd all be at the hangin' an' come to the wake besides an' have a tundherin' big time. But he answered thim niver a word, so they all wint on to the coort, an' in, bringin' the other half o' the town wid 'em, the faymale half bein' there kapin' comp'ny wid the widdys.

”The minnit they come nie the dure, all the widdys an' wimmin begun in wan breath to make raimarks on thim.

”'A-a-a-ah, the hang-dog face he has,' says Missis McMurthry. 'Sure hasn't he the look av a shape-thief on the road to the gallus?'

”'See the haythen vagabone,' says the Widdy Mulligan. 'If I had me tin fingers on him for five minnits, it's all the satiswhackshun I'd ax. Bad cess to the hair I'd lave on the head av him or in his whushkers aither.'

”But the Widdy O'Donnell only cried, an' all the wimmin turned their noses up whin they seen Miss Rooney comin' in.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”OULD ROONEY AN' PADDY BLAGGARDIN' THE CONSTHABLE IVERY FUT O' THE WAY.”]

”OULD ROONEY AN' PADDY BLAGGARDIN' THE CONSTHABLE IVERY FUT O' THE WAY.”

”'Look at that owld thing,' says they. 'Phat a power av impidince! Mind the consate av her to be comin' here wid him. Sure she hasn't the shame av a shtone monkey,' says they av her.

”'Silence in the coort,' says the shur'f. 'Stop that laughin' be the dure.

Git along down out o' thim windys,' says he to the mob that Dooley an' the consthable brought wid thim.

”'Misther Dooley,' says the judge, 'I'm axed to b'lave ye're thryin' to marry four wimmin at wanst, three av the same aforeshed bein' widdys an'

the other wan not. Is it thrue, or do ye plade not guilty?' says he.

”'It's not thrue, yer Lordshap,' says Dooley, shpakin' up, bekase he seen he was in for it an' put on a bowld face. 'Thim widdys is crazy to get a husband, an' misconsayved the manin' o' me words,' says he, an' that minnit you'd think a faymale lunattic ashylum broke loose in the coort.

”They all gabbled at wanst like a field av crows. They said he was a haythen, a Toork, a vulgar shpalpeen, a lyin' blaggard, a uppresser av the widdy, a robber av the orphin, he was worse than a nagur, he was, so he was, an' they niver thought av belavin' him, nor av marryin' him aither till he axed thim, an' so on.

”The judge was a married man himself an' knewn it was no use thryin' to shtop the gostherin,' for it was a joke av him to say that the differ bechuxt a woman an' a book was you cud shut up a book, so he let thim go on till they were spint an' out o' breath an' shtopped o' thimselves like an owld clock that's run down.

”'The sintince av this coort, Misther Dooley, is, that ye marry wan av 'em an' make compinsation to the other wans in a payc.o.o.nyary way be payin'

thim siven poun' aitch.'