“Why? Are you that clever, Conal?” says the Judge, says he.
“I am that clever,” says Conal, “I am that clever, that I would make a skin-fit suit of clothes for a man without any more measurement than to tell me the color of his hair.”
“Then, boys,” says the Judge, says he, “I think the case is decided.”
“Not so quick, my friend,” says Donal, “not so quick.”
“Why, Donal,” says the Judge, says he, “you are surely not cleverer than that?”
“Am I not?” says Donal.
“Why,” says the Judge, says he, “what can you do, Donal?”
“Why,” says Donal, says he, “I would make a skin-fit suit for a man and give me no more measurement than let me hear him cough.”
“Well, well, well,” says the Judge, says he, “the cleverness of you two boys beats all I ever heard of. Taig,” says he, “poor Taig, whatever chance either of these two may have for the field, I’m very, very sorry for you, for you have no chance.”