The monotonous and quiet Irish sentences followed one another again.
“That’ll do. Now, William—”
“He says, yer worship, that he was a big lump of a yalla dog, an’ very cross, by reason of he r’arin’ a pup.”
“And ’twas to make mutton-broth for the pup she dhrove Darcy’s sheep in the lake, I suppose?”
A contemptuous smile passed over Darcy’s face as the Chairman’s sally was duly translated to him, and he made a rapid reply.
“He says there isn’t one of the neighbours but got great annoyance by the same dog, yer worship, and that when the dog’d be out by night hunting, there wouldn’t be a yard o’ wather in the lakes but he’d have it barked over.”
“It appears,” observed Dr. Lyden serenely, “that the dog, like the gorsoons, was of both sexes.”
“Well, well, no matther now; we’ll hear what the defendant has to say. Swear Sweeny!” said Mr. Heraty, smoothing his long grey beard, with suddenly remembered judicial severity and looking menacingly over his spectacles at Sweeny. “Here, now! you don’t want an interpreter! You that has a sisther married to a stationmaster and a brother in the Connaught Rangers!”
“I have as good English as anny man in this coort,” said Sweeny morosely.
“Well, show it off man! What defence have ye?”