“I say that the sheep wasn’t Darcy’s at all,” said Sweeny firmly, standing as straight as a ramrod, with his hands behind his back, a picture of surly, wronged integrity. “And there’s no man livin’ can prove she was. Ask him now what way did he know her?”
The question evidently touched Darcy on a tender point. He squared his big shoulders in his white flannel jacket, and turning his face for the first time towards the magistrates delivered a flood of Irish, in which we heard a word that sounded like ullán often repeated.
“He says, yer worships,” translated William, “why wouldn’t he know her! Hadn’t she the ullán on her! He says a poor man like him would know one of the few sheep he has as well as yer worship’d know one o’ yer own gowns if it had sthrayed from ye.”
It is probable that we looked some of the stupefaction that we felt at this remarkable reference to Mr. Heraty’s wardrobe.
“For the benefit of the general public,” said Dr. Lyden, in his languid, subtle brogue, with a side-glance at that body, “it may be no harm to mention that the plaintiff is alluding to the Chairman’s yearling calves and not to his costume.”
“Order now!” said Mr. Heraty severely.
“An’ he says,” continued William, warily purging his frog-countenance of any hint of appreciation, “that Sweeny knew the ullán that was on her as well as himself did.”
“Ullán! What sort of English is that for an interpreter to be using! Do ye suppose the general public knows what is an ullán?” interrupted Mr. Heraty with lightning rapidity. “Explain that now!”
“Why, yer worship, sure anny one in the world’d know what the ullán on a sheep’s back is!” said William, staggered by this sudden onslaught, “though there’s some might call it the rebugh.”
“God help the Government that’s payin’ you wages!” said Mr. Heraty with sudden and bitter ferocity (but did we intercept a wink at his colleague?). “If it wasn’t for the young family you’re r’arin’ in yer old age, I’d commit ye for contempt of coort!”