“Why, Donal,” says the Judge, says he, “surely you are not as supple as that?”
“Am I not ?” says Donal. “Do you see that old castle over there without door, or window, or roof in it, and the wind blowing in and out through it like an iron gate ?”
“I do,” says the Judge. “What about that?”
“Well,” says Donal, says he, “if on the stormiest day of the year you had that castle filled with feathers, I would not let a feather be lost, or go ten yards from the castle until I had caught and put it in again.”
“Well, surely,” says the Judge, says he, “you are a supple man, Donal, and no mistake. Taig,” says he, “there’s no chance for you now.”
“Don’t be too sure,” says Taig, says he.
“Why,” says the Judge, “you couldn’t surely do anything to equal these things, Taig?”
Says Taig, says he: “I can shoe the swiftest race-horse in the land when he is galloping at his topmost speed, by driving a nail every time he lifts his foot.”
“Well, well, well,” says the Judge, says he, “surely you are the three most wonderful men that ever I did meet. The likes of you never was known before, and I suppose the likes of you will never be on the earth again. There is only one other trial,” says he, “and if this doesn’t decide, I’ll have to give it up. I’ll give the field,” says he, “to the cleverest man amongst you.”
“Then,” says Conal, says he, “you may as well give it to me at once.”