“Sure, it was a blackguard’s thrick to lave Misthress Gallagher widout a bed to lie on, or a shtove or a taable to her back.”
“Did Gallagher do that?” demanded Long Mike, indignantly.
“He did not,” said Stumpy, “but there’s them that did.”
“Who did it?” asked Long Mike.
“It was yoursilf,” said Stumpy, and stood immediately on the defensive.
The look of blank astonishment that Long Mike gave at the accusation was at least presumptive proof that he did not realize his offence, and seeing it, Stumpy’s wrath was somewhat assuaged. It did not right the wrong, however, and Stumpy wanted that done.
“It was whin ye was lukkin’ f’r Gallagher,” he explained. “Belike ye was confused wid the rage that was in ye, an’ maybe a thrifle o’ liquor, too, but ye found his house, an’ him not bein’ there, by the mercy o’ God, ye smashed, and smashed, an’ there’s nothin’ left.”
“Did I, now?” said Long Mike, and he chuckled, whereat Stumpy’s wrath blazed up again.
“Ye did,” he said, briefly, “an’ ’twas a blackguard act for to lave a lone woman deshtitoot.”
“Aisy now, Stumpy, aisy now,” said Long Mike, good-naturedly. “Av that pirut, Gallagher, has left his woman deshtitoot—”