PODGERS' POINTER 81 



get one because 1 can. It's too bad, by George ! — 

 it's too bad ! " 



One lovely morning in the month of September 

 I was sauntering along the shady side of Sackville 

 Street, Dublin, when a gentleman, encased in a 

 coat of a resounding pattern, all over pockets, and 

 whose knickerbockers seemed especially constructed 

 to meet the requirements of the coat, suddenly 

 burst upon, and clutched me. 



" The very man I wanted," he exclaimed. " I've 

 been hunting you the way O'Mulligan's pup hunted 

 the fourpenny bit through the bonfire." 



" What can I do for you, Mr Podgers ? " I asked. 



" I want a day's shooting at O'Eooney's of Bally- 

 bawn," responded Podgers. 



Now, I was not intimate with Mr O'PtOoney. 

 We had met at the club ; but as he was a smoking 

 man, and as I, after a prolonged and terrific combat 

 with a very mild cigar (what must the strong ones 

 be !), had bidden a long farewell to the Indian 

 weed, it is scarcely necessary to mention that, 

 although Mr O'PiOoney and myself were very 

 frequently beneath the same roof, we very seldom 

 encountered one another, save in a casual sort of 

 way. 



" I assure you, Mr Podgers, that I " 



" Pshaw ! that's all gammon," he burst in antici- 



