64 GARRYOWEN 



Black White was his nickname, and well he de- 

 served it. They fought here, for it was snowing 

 so thick outside you couldn't see a man at ten 

 paces. Eighteen hundred and one that was, and 

 they in their graves all these years ! No, no one 

 was killed. Only a tenant that had come in to see 

 the fun, and he got in the Une of fire. He re- 

 covered, I believe, though they say he carried the 

 bullet in his head to the end of his days. This is 

 the sitting-room. It's the warmest room in 

 winter. The old house is as full of holes as a 

 cullender; but you'll never get a draught here. 

 Norah! " putting his head out of the door. 



" Yes, sir? " 



" Bring the decanters. You don't mind smok- 

 ing. Miss Grimshaw? Thafs a good job. Are you 

 fond of horses, Mr Dashwood? " 



"Rather!" 



" Well, there's the hoof of the Shaughraun. He 

 carried everjrthing before him in Ireland ; lie was 

 my grandfather's, and he was entered for the 

 Derby, and some blackguards poisoned him. It 

 would be before your time, and his death made 

 more stir than the death of anything that ever 

 went on four legs, except, maybe, old Nebuchad- 

 nezzar. They made songs about it, and I have a 

 ballad upstairs in my desk a yard long my father 

 bought from an old woman in Abbey Street. 

 Here's the whisky. Sure, Norah, what have you 

 been dreaming about, and why didn't you bring 

 the wine for the young lady? Not drink wine! 



